


Lost in Space

by 27dragons, tisfan



Series: The Enhancile War [3]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood and Violence, Blow Jobs, Coitus Interruptus, Dubious Science, Edgeplay, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Clint Barton/Phil Coulson, Minor Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov, Science, Science Fiction, Serum as STD, inappropriate use of black holes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-06-29 11:39:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 62,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15728667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Space is big. You just won't believe how vastly, hugely, mind- bogglingly big it is. I mean, you may think it's a long way down the road to the chemist's, but that's just peanuts to space.-- Hitchhiker's Guide the the GalaxyThe crew of the Avengers is called in to deal with a situation in the New York cluster. Trying to evade Hydra forces, the crew ends up flung to the far end of the galaxy with a pressing question:Where the fuck are we?





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one in which Bucky isn't pregnant...
> 
> ... and they're told not to have quite so much sex.

The soldier woke up in blackness, heart pounding so loud it was all he could hear. His eyes were blind, although they shouldn’t have been, and he stared, not able to tell the difference between eyes open or shut. His throat and mouth were dry, dessicated, and his stomach swam unpleasantly.

Sweat cooled rapidly against his skin, making him shiver.

He didn’t know where he was. Or why he was there. There was nothing but darkness and the throb of his pulse and the smell of his own sweat. He reached out; there was softness under his hand, cloth, trapping his body heat. He shoved his hand further and encountered something warm. The soldier’s nerves reported; artificial nerves, giving him data. Exact skin temperature, the room’s ambient heat, the sense of the gravity in the room: eighty percent Old Earth norm.

The warm thing moved and the soldier skittered back from it.

Why didn’t he have a weapon?

He pushed back a little further, and that was too far. Gravity took hold, and he fell off the side of… something. A bed? The floor was hard, chilly. Metal.

“ _Frell_ ,” he yelped as his naked hip pressed against the cold steel. His stomach swam again.

For just a moment, he got hotter, too hot, and there was a smell of singed cloth. Orange flecks of light danced, and the soldier lifted his hand, his right hand, and there was something _inside him_.

The artificial hand grabbed his right wrist, like he could stop it, whatever _it_ was. Squeeze off the vein to hold the poison at bay. Like his right hand was going to do something without him knowing about it. He scooted back again, crabbing awkwardly across the floor until he hit a wall. He crouched there, shivering.

The thing in the bed moved, sound of shifting cloth and deeper breathing. “Bucky?” it said. More shifting cloth as it moved again. “Y’okay?”

_You are the Fist of Hydra. You don’t cower like a child._

The soldier pushed himself up, against the wall. The servos in his arm whined in protest, the plates clicking like a dozen insectoid legs at once. It wasn’t… quite. The right noises. Not the ones he remembered.

It was so dark. Where the frell was he? Why couldn’t he see? His enhanced vision should be showing all ambient lighting; nowhere there were humans was ever completely black. He blinked, harder.

“Honey, what’s the-- Oh, dren, what’s _that?_ ” The voice was masculine, sleepy at first and then tight with something like fear.

 _You don’t cower--_ a spike of agony through his chest like needles, and his legs went weak and trembly, unsteady as if he were fresh out of cryo. “I can’t see.” It was giving away a weakness to a potential enemy, but he would know soon enough. He could still smell and hear and… did he know that voice? He… knew that voice, didn’t he? “ _I can’t see_.”

“JARVIS, give us a nightlight.” A light came on, even its dim level startling and painful to the eyes, revealing a wide bunk with a man in it, naked and tousled, propped up on one arm and looking at the soldier with concern. “Hey there, look at me. Can you tell me your name?”

For just a fraction of a second, long enough for icy terror to settle around his chest, the soldier _didn’t know_. And then suddenly he did, as everything snapped back into place. “ _Tony_ ,” Bucky gasped. “Oh, frell, what the--” Bucky did fall then, hit his knees hard on the cold floor and the pain was accompanied by that hot, stabbing sensation in his chest again.

Tony swung his legs around, sitting up on the side of the bed. “No, _I’m_ Tony,” he said, but his mouth curved as he said it. “You back with me, baby? What happened, what’s wrong?” He reached out a hand, offering.

Bucky leaned against the wall, heedless of the cold metal, letting it leach away some of his fear. “Somethin’ happened,” he said, pressing his hand against his chest. “Dunno. Chest feels weird, an’ I couldn’t see.” He let some of his anxiety show. “Tony, that don’t happen, not never. Gotta be no light at all, before I can’t see, an’ you know that doesn’t happen.” His gaze darted around the room, taking note of the chrono, the communicator, the green light that indicated their oxy status, and the blue one that showed gravity was functional. Those were always on, unless the ship had lost total power, and while the _Avenger_ was a bit of a derelict, if they’d had a complete shutdown, someone would already be screaming for the ship’s mechanic.

Who was half upright in bed, concern all over his mobile, handsome features. “Yeah, that’s a problem,” he said. “I don’t know, for a second there before I turned on the light, I thought I saw eyes glowing in the dark, but I’ve never seen you do that before.” He slid off the bed and onto his knees on the floor, closer to Bucky. “Maybe we should have Bruce check things out, huh?”

Bucky was shaking, a little. He was cold, fresh from cryo cold, and-- “Couldn’t remember where I was,” he admitted, that tendril of fear wrapping around his spine. “Felt like… I was back in asset mode. Didn’t know _who_ I was.” He hooked his arms together around his bare knees ( _cowering_ ). He flitted a glance in Tony’s direction. “You reckon it’s possible my enhancement might be wearin’ off? Ain’t practically anybody ‘cept me an’ Steve an a few others that are so old. Most of those first batches, they’re all dead.”

“I suppose it’s possible,” Tony said, though he sounded doubtful. “No one knows what the long-term effects of your serum are. But it seems unlikely that it would just... shut off like that.” He scooted closer to Bucky, hesitant. “We definitely should have someone look at you, though, if you think that might be it.”

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky said. A decade or so ago, he might have _wanted_ the serum to wear off, to let him sleep, let him stop. Now… now he had something to live for; things he wanted youth and health and time to enjoy. He managed a brief, trembling smile, and let his husband touch him, linked their fingers together. “Okay, we c’n, I can… yeah.” His stomach roiled again, a bag of acid and terror inside his gut. “Might wanna wait ‘til th’ end of the dark shift. Banner might get cranky if we wake him up.”

Cranky was understating it by a mile, but everyone on the _Avenger_ had learned not to upset the doctor. Not that Bruce was particularly temperamental, but when he did get angry, he didn’t take half-measures, either.

“Yeah, it can probably wait a little while longer,” Tony said, squeezing Bucky’s hand reassuringly. “As long as you’re not in any pain.”

Bucky gritted his teeth and let Tony help him off the floor. “Little bit,” he said, feeling his neck heat like being in pain was something to be ashamed of. “More cold than anythin’.” Which wasn’t entirely true, but he wasn’t sure how to describe the darts of agony that had splintered through his chest. It didn’t seem to be happening _now_ , at any rate.

“Well, let’s get you up off the floor and back into bed,” Tony said reasonably. “That’ll help warm you up.” He stood up without letting go of Bucky’s hand, and tugged gently to pull Bucky to standing. “Come on, honey. Let me warm you up.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. Tony was warm and soft, and soothing. He let Tony lead him back to their bed and curled in, snuggling up to Tony. He pressed his lips against Tony’s shoulder, tucked his face into the protective crook of Tony’s throat.

_Wipe him, start over._

Bucky flinched away from that voice, those old ghosts that refused to leave him alone, clung to Tony with both hands and wished he could somehow just crawl all the way inside, let Tony keep him safe and whole and human.

Tony obligingly wrapped his arms around Bucky’s shoulders, callused hands stroking at Bucky’s back and hair. “It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Tony murmured. “Everything’s going to be okay. You’re right here with me.”

Bucky let Tony soothe him. “Jus’ wish he…” but whatever he wished was going to have to wait. The darkness reached up and claimed him and the words slurred and stopped. Bucky slipped back into dreamless sleep without a protest.

***

The instant the shift changed, Tony was crawling over Bucky to get out of bed. He’d been lying in the semi-darkness for far too long, imagining one disaster scenario after another for his husband, and no matter how often he tried to tell himself that it was just a nightmare and a trick of the light, he couldn’t quite make himself believe it.

Six standard months, they’d been married and living aboard the _Avenger_ , taking whatever work happened to fall their way, and happy just to be together. Some part of Tony still couldn’t believe it, still couldn’t imagine that he was allowed to have so much happiness and love in his life. Not without paying a price for it.

Of course, a rational person might say they were already paying a price. The Inhuman Rights Act had passed, stating that enhanciles like Bucky and Tony were even allowed to be married and to work for themselves instead of being owned by some government or massive corporation -- but of course a lot of those governments and corporations were fighting back, introducing local and galactic legislation that chipped away at those rights. There were still a lot of ports where the _Avenger_ , whose crew was mostly enhanciles, couldn’t touch down for fear of arrest. There were a lot more places where bounty hunters worked the shadows, and an enhancile who was taken back into custody was probably never going to be heard from again. It was a lot of fear to live with.

But it wasn’t as immediate as the fear Tony had for Bucky’s health, not this morning. He grabbed for his clothes and started pulling them on. “JARVIS, alert Bruce that we’ll be in to see him right after breakfast. In a professional capacity.”

Bucky yawned and rolled over, reaching sleepily for Tony as he got out of bed. He made an exaggerated, exasperated sigh when Tony got his pants on. “Spoilsport,” he told his husband, sticking his lower lip out with a pout. “I reckon I’m feelin’ okay, this morning. Hungry as a horse, mind, but okay.”

Tony leaned in to kiss Bucky thoroughly, but pulled back before Bucky could turn it into anything more. “We had plenty of fun last night,” he pointed out. “I’ve been up for half the shift worrying; I want to get you looked at as soon as we can. But eating first, we can do that.”

“Well, maybe you're what I'm hungry for,” Bucky suggested, but the growling in his belly betrayed him and he made a put upon face before resigning himself to food. “Does Banner have to poke at me?”

Bucky got up and started pulling clothes on, but he was grabby and playful, trying to jostle Tony out of his worry rather than being serious.

Tony let himself be distracted a little, but not very much. Bucky not knowing himself, that could be chalked up to nightmare, but Tony had experienced Bucky’s freaky night vision before, and for that to suddenly be _gone_ , along with a “weird” feeling in his chest... Tony wanted that figured out.

Bucky ate breakfast like he was recovering from a wound; the Rebirth serum converted calories to healing and enhanced strength on a scary level. Tony had seen their Captain, Steve, heal from a compound fracture in just a few days, simply by tripling his normal food intake -- which wasn’t inconsequential to start with. He passed right over his favorite, a pastry that Clint had gotten Bucky hooked on, and went for reconned eggs, sausages, high in protein and fat. And then he took his life in his hands, drinking about half of Nat’s orange juice. The real stuff. That she paid a premium for.  

“Uh, are you sure you want to be doing that?” Tony asked. “There are less dangerous ways to get calories and vitamins.”

Bucky stopped a moment, looking at the cup like he’d just realized what he was doing, then shrugged. “I’ll buy her more,” he said. He gulped down the rest of the juice. “Or I’ll jus’ let her think that Clint drank it.”

That was not going to fly; Clint avoided things with actual nutrients in them like they were plague bearing.

“Uh-huh.” Tony pulled out two packages of Fruity Oaty Bars and handed them over. “Here. Calories. Why are you eating like you’re healing something?”

“Jus’ _hungry_ ,” Bucky complained, mouth full of eggs and cheese. He chased after the melted bits on his plate and then popped up again to grab another breakfast pack. If Tony’s math wasn’t wrong -- and his math was never wrong -- Bucky had socked away enough calories for a blaster wound to the gut. It was chilling. Terrifying, really. He’d seen Bucky eat that way… honestly, never, come to think of it. Well, once. When Bucky was trying out fair food for the first time, and he’d mocked the food, and himself, in his Asset-stiff manner, the entire time.

Whatever was going on, he either needed the calories, or he’d burn through them later, so Tony sat back and watched and tried to hide his concern until Bucky finally slowed down. “Okay, I think it’s time to go and visit Bruce,” he said.

Bucky shrugged. “Maybe I’m jus’... sick?” He said it a little confused. Enhanciles didn’t get sick; it was part of the large benefits package that went along with costing them their personhood for the better part of a century. “Okay, okay, stop… lookin’ like that. I’m fine. Banner’ll tell you so, too.” But he trudged down to medical, albeit somewhat reluctantly.

Bruce was already in medical, tapping at his portable absently. “You have something for me?” he asked, looking up as they came in, his curly hair sticking up in all directions.

“Hey, Brucie,” Tony said. “Bucky woke up last night with some kind of... thing going on, and today he’s eating like someone lopped off his other arm. However much he bitches, he needs to be poked and prodded.” He reached for Bucky’s hand, laced their fingers together. “You tell Bruce what happened last night; you weren’t terribly clear when you were telling me.”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair. “Woke up in Asset mindset,” he said, reluctantly. “No name. No idea where I was, or why. Couldn’t see. And thank _frell_ I don’t pack a weapon close anymore, I mighta hurt someone, I was that scared. Didn’t last long, few minutes, maybe. I don’t… remember dreamin’. Had some pain, here.” He tapped his chest. “Like someone was stabbin’ me with an icepick or like that. Spine hurt. Glittery, a little. I dunno. It was over so fast, an’ then I was just _tired_.”

Bruce glanced up from his portable to raise his eyebrows at Bucky. “Glittery? Can you be more specific about that?”

“Like… I don’t know,” Bucky said. “I still couldn’t see, not ‘til Tony turned on th’ lights, but I thought… I saw sparkles. Like bits of something on fire. Smelled it, too. And I was so _cold_. That was the worst, like I’d jus’ come out of cryo or somethin’.”

Tony rubbed a hand up and down Bucky’s arm, comforting. “You didn’t tell me that part,” he said. “About the sparkles. That’s... Could that be related to the trouble with his vision?”

Bruce hummed thoughtfully. “Could be,” he said, “though I wouldn’t think he’d smell anything in that case. But in that particular mindset...” He shrugged, and put his portable on the counter. “Let’s start with the baseline stuff and work our way up, shall we?” He dug the blood pressure cuff out of its cubby.

Bucky shuddered, but obediently hopped up on Bruce’s examining table. His eyes flicked back and forth between the medical equipment and Tony’s face.

Bruce went through the whole med-check; took a blood sample and had Bucky spit in a cup. He listened to Bucky’s heart and lungs, peered into his eyes and ears, swabbed out his throat.

“This would be easier if I had an original sample,” Bruce complained. Bucky had been notoriously reluctant to submit to any medical examinations. “And your blood is a mess; I’m seeing Rebirth in here, as well as some other formulas. Oh, look, there’s a DNA marker for SSR, and another one for Hydra’s Phoenix mix. If you ever get captured, no one’s going to quite know what to do with you.”

Bucky made a soft, almost mournful sound and he swallowed a few times, painful and dry. “I’ll keep it in mind,” he said.

Tony kept hold of Bucky’s hand, squeezing occasionally to remind Bucky he was there. “None of that is news, though,” he pointed out. “Nobody’s given Bucky any new serums lately.”

Bruce peered again, and added a droplet of something to the mix. “I don’t know about that,” Bruce said. “I’m getting an endothermic reaction here that’s not normal. Phoenix doesn’t cause this sort of conversion. I haven’t… hey, Tony, dig out your file for me, would you? I want to look at your most recent blood sample.”

“...Sure,” Tony said, confused. He scooped up Bruce’s portable and flipped through the files to his own writeups. He pulled up his most recent blood results and handed the portable over to Bruce. “What’s going on?” He resisted the urge to push Bruce away from the scanner so he could look for himself. He wasn’t a doctor; he wouldn’t have any idea what he was looking at.

Bucky made an effort at a smirk. “Guess you got me pregnant,” he said.

“Well, that’s not _entirely_   wrong,” Bruce said, glancing from Tony’s file to the scanner again.

“Wait, back up: _what?_ ”

“More like a sexually transmitted… it’s not a disease, though. There really aren’t words for this,” Bruce muttered. “It’s not like it’s _happened_ before. Well, not that I know of. Companies are still pretty cagey with their enhancile research information. If I may ask a question of a personal nature; are…” Bruce was blushing, across his nose and cheeks. “Are you sharing bodily fluid with Barnes?” He directed that question at Tony, which had Bucky making a face, half exasperation, half trepidation. Like he was used to being talked about while he was in the room, rather than spoken _to_.

“Uh, yes, obviously, we’ve been married for six months now, not even mentioning how long we were together before that.”

“I think…” Bruce said, frowning at the data again. “I think you might be… for lack of a better term. Impregnating Barnes with Extremis.”

“The _frell_ even?” Bucky exclaimed.

“Oh frell,” Tony said. Oh, _frell_. He’d never even _considered_ the possibility that the Extremis nanites would make their way into his semen, though now that he was thinking about it, of _course_ they would. They were designed to go anywhere his blood could go, like white blood cells. “Oh drenning void. The sparks, that’s...” Tony had seen that on his own skin before, whenever Extremis was working extra hard to heal him. Though usually on Tony it manifested as a warm glow and some intense heat. Bucky... probably didn’t have enough of the nanites in his system for the full experience.

Thank the void for that. It had been bad enough to live through.

“So...” Tony said, mind firing faster than he could keep up with it. “Is the Extremis trying to undo the work of the serum and send him back to baseline normal? Because that’s... that’s a no-go, we’ll have to figure out some way to deal with that.”

“I don’t know _what_ it’s doing,” Bruce said. “I wouldn’t have recognized it at all, except that there’s not enough Rebirth in his system. Steve’s blood is chock full of the stuff. But I can’t tell if that’s the Extremis or the Phoenix, or some sort of incompatibility between the three serums. Extremis isn't even detectable by normal means. I can't tell how much is in you.” Bruce glanced at Bucky.  “It could be removing the Rebirth and self replicating. I might be able to track it. But I'll need you to save all your output for a few days. And no more fluid exchange. Not even kissing.”

“No,” Bucky said. “No that's not happening.”

“Technically it would be not _not_ happening,” Bruce said.

“Technically, think of another way to track this,” Tony said. “I’m not giving up kissing over anything that’s not a life-or-death matter.”

Bruce sighed. “Why do you always make things complicated? Control the variables. It's the first rule of science.” He turned an imploring look on Bucky. “A few days.”

Bucky scoffed. “Have you _seen_ my husband? I’d have t’be on another planet and maybe even not then.”

“What if we promise a nice daily blood draw, and reports of any fluid exchanges more significant than kissing?” Tony bargained. “Oh, and I should contact Maya and find out how _her_ love life has been going.”

Bruce sighed and got out a sample cup. “Spit,” he told Tony. “And I want you to time it. At least for today. I have to have some data. Your baser nature is going to get you in trouble. You know that, right? You both know that.”

“You say that like it hasn’t already gotten us into trouble. Look, we’re not leaving the ship,” Tony pointed out, handing the specimen back. “JARVIS, collect for Bruce everything he feels he needs to know about our, shall we say, interactions. There, satisfied, Brucie?”

“I suppose it will have to do, for now,” Bruce said. “But if there are any more symptoms, we may need to separate you, until we can figure out some sort of stopgap. Tony… you wouldn’t forgive yourself, or me, if something happened. Remember that.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the not having as much sex doesn't last long...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, nothing to see here but the smuts. (Because, like Bucky says, have you SEEN his husband?)

The projections were pretty conclusive, from what Tony could see. Extremis was cannibalizing the Rebirth serum and using its building blocks to reconfigure the Phoenix serum. Slowly. A little at a time, because very little Extremis actually made it into Bucky’s body via what Bruce continued to insist on calling “fluid transfer”. Which was why they were only noticing it now, after months and months of them being together.

The reconfigured Phoenix serum looked more stable than the original. It ran a little hotter during the healing process, but not dangerously so. Its boost to musculature and bone density was at least 5% better than the original, though that was hard to calculate precisely, with the multiple versions of serum running around in Bucky’s bloodstream.

“A little _more_ Extremis would get him through the symptoms stage faster,” Tony guessed. And it was purely a guess; Maya’s response to his query had been negative. Apparently this was unique to Tony’s particular strain of Extremis. “Once it’s all converted, he’ll stop having those random sense triggers.”

“That’s speculation,” Bruce said, nudging the sim. “More Extremis could finish the breakdown process completely, and then what? You have a ninety-plus year old husband who’s too weak to hold up his own arm?”

“That’s not happening,” Tony said. “We’re not seeing _any_ degradation of Phoenix markers. It would have at least started breaking it down by now, if it was going to.”

“Do you want to take that risk?” Bruce asked. “Really? Right now, it’s a slow process. We have time to find a cure, or a way to undo it. If you flood his system, you take all that away and we’re just stuck with the consequences. Tony… I’m asking you, please. Let me figure out a way, if we need to, to put a halt to the process. Let’s have a cure, before you go on with the disease.”

Tony grumbled. “My math is right.” But while he was willing to gamble his own health on his math, gambling Bucky’s was more than he could stomach. “Fine. I’ve got the start of a counteragent already in the works in my files. I’ll send it to you and you can figure out what the next step is.”

Bruce nodded. “All right, I’ll go over it. Get some rest, Tony. You won’t do anyone any good if your own system gets compromised. It’s a slow process, we’ll figure it out.” Bruce bit at the inside of his cheek for a moment, then added, “You know, if my own enhancements weren’t so damn volatile, I wouldn’t worry. Most of the time, enhancement is a good thing. What it’s meant to do, what it was made for. It wasn’t… what I am. But we don’t know what this is going to do to him. It’s not like the serums have an agenda.”

Except, somehow, Tony thought maybe they _did_. It certainly seemed that way. It wasn’t what Tony would call intelligent, but a damn cold virus wasn’t intelligent, either. All it wanted, for some definition of _want_ , was to spread itself, to reproduce, and to _live_. Destroying all of Bucky’s enhancements wouldn’t get the serum what it needed; it wouldn’t live like that. It would die out, with Bucky, if, that was ultimately what happened.

“We’ll get that cure ready to go,” Tony promised Bruce, and hesitated at the door. “You know, what you are is a good thing, too. Volatile, yes. But good.”

“I’ll pass that along t’ the Other Guy, next time we talk,” Bruce told him seriously. “He likes you.”

“He already knows,” Tony said, smiling. “He’s smarter than most people give him credit for. But how could he not be, when he comes from you?” He flashed Bruce a grin, and then ducked out the door.

Bucky was waiting for him, back in their quarters off engineering. His appetite had slowed down considerably since they started (stopped?) having not quite so much sex, which was probably for the best, given that Nat was going to kill him if he didn’t stop breaking into her food stashes. She’d even tried hiding tins of peaches and plums in the gym, or sometimes under the floor panels, but it was like Bucky could sense the presence of food, even if there was no reasonable explanation for it.

“Hey,” Bucky said. His voice sounded… rough. “Any progress?”

“The sims are starting to form a picture,” Tony said. “I’m pretty sure it’s going to run its course and you’ll be fine. How are you feeling?”

“Had a bit of a hormone shift, earlier,” Bucky reported. “Think it’s leveled out a bit, mostly.” He eyed Tony from under lowered lashes.

“Yeah?” Tony slipped his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “What’s _mostly_ mean?”

Bucky turned his head and nuzzled at Tony’s wrist, lips brushing against the sensitive skin there. “Y’ missed the ugly cryin’ for no reason, but that part went away pretty quick. The rest of it’s still hanging around.” He let his mouth run up Tony’s palm, then sucked Tony’s index finger in, tonguing at the knuckle.

Tony’s breath caught and let out on a shudder. “Sorry I wasn’t here to comfort you,” he said. “There anything I can do to make you feel better now?” He curled his finger gently, brushing along the roof of Bucky’s mouth.

Bucky gave him a smoldering look and he bit down, just enough to dent the skin, before letting go. “I’m good now, baby,” he said. “Was just… weird, you know? But, uh, you could come hold me now, if you wanted.” He was not entirely innocent, there, his eyes saying a lot more than the rest of him.

“Oh, could I?” Tony nudged Bucky back toward their bed. “I’m always happy to hold you, honey, you know that. Any time you want.” He twisted and fell back onto the bed, reaching up for Bucky with one hand. “Come and get it.”

“Oh, _void_ , don’t tempt me,” he said, which didn’t seem to slow him down at all, crawling over the bed toward Tony with the prowling movements of a predator. He practically coiled around Tony, pressing close to him. He traced one hand down Tony’s cheek, apparently marveling at the texture difference between his skin and the beginning of his beard. “Everything’s so sensitive.” He continued to nuzzle at Tony’s skin, finding that spot just below his ear to lick and lip.

Tony whined a little, but tipped his head to give Bucky better access. “Talk about temptation,” he said, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s shoulders. “You’re an utter menace, you know that?”

“Seems t’ me that you’re the menace,” Bucky noted, nipping at Tony’s earlobe. “Comin’ in here and smelling good right when I wanted you to. You’re just… can’t resist you.” His fingers were busy at the fastenings for Tony’s shirt, and licked his way down, each inch of skin uncovered. He nosed very gently around the casing to the arc reactor, soft breath on the scar tissue there. “This… is still so beautiful,” he said, tracing one finger over the front panel. “It’s like lookin’ at a little piece of that massive intellect of yours.” The finger wandered, then, across one knobble of scar, then over Tony’s chest until he was circling at Tony’s nipple, just enough to prickle at the edge.

Tony arched into the touch, trying to direct it. Frell, but Bucky was a tease. Tony loved and hated it, and loved hating it. “You’re the beautiful one,” he said. He ran his hands restlessly over Bucky’s hair, across Bucky’s shoulders and back, curled his fingernails against the back of Bucky’s neck. “And a little bit mean.”

“Wouldn’t want you t’ get bored, if you got everything you wanted right away,” Bucky said. He spread open the front of Tony’s shirt, pulled back a little to admire him. His gaze still hot on Tony’s face, he lowered his mouth until he fastened it over Tony’s nipple, licking it stiff, then sucking the pebbled skin. “You don’t wanna miss anything, do ya?” He blew cool air over the wet, heated skin, then soothed it with his tongue.

“Ohhh, frell,” Tony groaned. He tugged at Bucky’s shirt until Bucky relented and shrugged out of it. “Dren, you feel so good, honey.” He dragged his hands over the warm, soft skin of Bucky’s shoulders and back, tried to roll his hips up to strop against Bucky’s body, hovering so close. “Come on, baby, it’s been too long.”

JARVIS made one of those noises, not quite like a human sigh. “Sir, if I might remind you--”

Tony dropped his head back with a frustrated groan. “JARVIS, you killjoy. Why.”

Bucky licked at Tony’s skin again. “Ignoring you, JARVIS,” he said, pulling the blanket over his head and disappearing down Tony’s body. He came to rest cradled between Tony’s thighs, nosing at the waistband of his trousers. When a light scrape of his teeth over Tony’s hip elicited a startled squeak that ended in a moan, Bucky did it again.

“You did indicate to Dr. Banner that you would decrease the spread of the enhancement nanotech through biological conduits,” JARVIS pointed out.

“That’s about th’ _least_ sexy way I ever heard anyone describe it,” Bucky commented, the sound somewhat muffled by the blanket. He rubbed his cheek against the front panel of Tony’s trousers.

“It’s decreased,” Tony pointed out, more than slightly breathless now. “This is decreasing, we haven’t had sex for _ages_ , we’ve decreased. I think we’re due. Don’t you think we’re due, Bucky? Yeah. Tell you what, he won’t swallow. How’s that for a compromise. Y’hear that, honey? No swallowing.”

“Mmmm, I hear you,” Bucky said. One hand slid down the back of Tony’s pants, fingertips gripping his ass tight. The metal hand fiddled with Tony’s trousers, unhooking the fastener. Cool, metal fingers slipped into the opening, the slick pads of his artificial fingers brushing down Tony’s length.

Tony shuddered. He hadn’t specifically been thinking about sex when he’d built this arm for Bucky, but it definitely had an active role in their sex lives. Tony _loved_ the feel of those fingers on his skin, the gentle caress and the knowledge of the strength underlying each soft touch. “Yeah, honey, please, oh...”

“Yeah?” Bucky repeated, delighted. “You think I could get you off just like this?” He tugged until Tony’s pants came down, bagging around his thighs, before returning to that sensual dance, teasing and tracing lines around Tony’s cock. “Might take a while, but, oh, I bet you’d be pretty when you got there, finally.” He cupped his hand and let Tony rub against it a few times, the plates in his palm seamless and smooth.

“Oh, dren, baby,” Tony whined, trying for more friction and not quite getting it. “I’d die. Just. Explode, _zot_ , right on the spot. Feels so good, I always think I’m going to just burn up anyway.” He wriggled an arm beneath the blanket to reach down, touch Bucky’s hand and arm and shoulder.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Bucky asked, paused until Tony opened his mouth to answer, and sidetracked him completely by licking at the head of Tony’s dick like it was a hard candy. He pulled off, then rubbed his cheek against it, a combination of smooth and the faintest prickle of a few hours’ beard growth. “Hmmm? Did you say somethin’?” His metal fingers traced over Tony’s hip, then came to rest on his inner thigh, lightly rubbing and teasing at the crease.

“Ohhh, no,” Tony said readily, settling his fingers in Bucky’s hair. “Nope, I did not say a _thing_.” He couldn’t seem to lie still, though, his hips rocking in a silent plea. “Please feel free to continue.”

“No swallowing,” Bucky said, “so you gotta tell me, baby.” He eyed Tony for a quick nod, then went down, practically taking him all the way to the root in one go. He used his tongue, mouth, and lips to drive Tony’s need like a horse, bringing Tony right up to the edge as fast as he could. He licked at the head, tonguing at the slit, then dove in again, sucking his cheeks in around Tony’s cock for a wet, slick fit.  

Tony groaned aloud, letting his hand tighten, pulling Bucky’s hair into tangles. Bucky felt so good, so warm and wet and-- “Oh, oh, oh, _there_ , yes, oh frell, that’s-- That’s. Oh, baby, I’m. I’m going to--”

Bucky pulled off with a wet sound and blew cool air across the wet skin. His fingers went around the base of Tony's dick, gave it a little squeeze, just enough to bring him down.

“No, no, oh _dren_ ,” Tony complained, his body quivering with the need for release, the anticipation that had been stifled. “Oh, frell, you’re so mean.”

“The worst,” Bucky agreed amiably. He traded his hand for his mouth, stroking gently, seemingly completely at ease. “I got you. Gonna take good care of you.”

“Take care of you” was apparently Bucky-speak for “edge you until you’re crying for it,” because he did it again, the next time Tony warned him the he was getting close. And then again, and Tony’s whole body felt like a live wire, sparking with every little touch, shaking with need and wanting.

He tried to reach down to finish it himself, but Bucky caught his hand, lacing their fingers together with an almost innocent look. Tony whimpered in frustration. “Please, honey, _please_ , I need it so bad.”

“Yeah, I know you do,” Bucky soothed, fingers dancing up and down Tony's shaft. He lipped gently, following the path of his fingers, breath warm over Tony's skin. “Almost, almost there. God, you are so magnificent.”

Tony didn’t know about magnificent. He felt more like a mess, every nerve exposed and raw, Bucky’s lightest touch like liquid fire under his skin. “Please,” he begged again. “I need you.” He tried to arch up against Bucky’s body, but Bucky had him pinned down, helpless.

“Shhh, baby, ease into it,” Bucky told him.  His hand moved a little faster, giving Tony more friction. His own hips were rocking against Tony's thigh.

Tony gasped out a sob and threw his head back, letting himself fall into the flames, letting that flood of desperate desire sweep him away. “Oh, frell, Bucky,” he moaned, “I just...”

“Alright honey,” Bucky said, sliding over Tony's body and lining them up, his cock rubbing against Tony's. “Come on baby, come with me.”

His climax took him by surprise, shaking him with a sizzle of pleasure too intense to actually feel. He cried out, arching his whole body to press into Bucky’s, every muscle taut. When he fell back onto the bed, he felt utterly boneless.

“There you are,” Bucky trilled. “So good, just like that. Frelling perfect’s what you are. So fine, so good for me. Love you so much.” Tony wasn’t sure if Bucky came with him, or after him, or before him. He wasn’t sure which way was up, or down.

What he did know was that Bucky was singing his praises, and that he was warm and content, and utterly, utterly spent. He curled into Bucky’s arms, peppering whatever bits of Bucky he could reach with kisses, and let sleep carry him away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the crew is given a mission.

Captain Rogers, and it was decidedly _Captain Rogers_ and not _Steve_ , threw open the door to their bunk and banged on the bulkhead like the world was ending. “Come on, rise and shine, up and at ‘em,” he bellowed. Why, why was there bellowing going on before Bucky had coffee?

Bucky blinked. His eyes were thick crusted with sleep and his mouth tasted like something had crawled inside and died. Tony was sprawled across his chest, clinging like a sleepy koala bear, and really, all Bucky wanted to do was run his fingers through Tony’s tousled bedhead and go back to frelling sleep.

“Cruel an’ unusual, Captain,” Bucky complained. “What the frell even is th’ time?”

“First shift’s half done,” Steve said, which was really rude. On a planet, that was three in the gorram morning. “Doesn’t matter. Fury’s got a job for us, all hands on deck for communications.”

It said a lot about how much of the frelling SSR Army life stuck with Bucky that he didn’t just flip Steve off and go back to sleep.

Tony stirred, lifted his head to squint at Steve. “Coffee?”

Steve, for whom work was all the energy he needed, scoffed and disappeared. Probably to wake up Nat. Bucky rather hoped he’d actually wake her, since she’d probably break a few of his fingers in the process. It’d be all healed by lunch, but in the meanwhile, Bucky could be smug about it.

“I’ll get you some… ow, you’re on my hair,” Bucky said, tugging a few locks out from under Tony’s hand. “I’ll make coffee. You c’n find my pants.”

Tony seemed to ponder this for rather longer than necessary. Finally, he nodded. “Fair deal.” He peeled himself off Bucky and laboriously started the process of sitting up.

Coffee. Bucky dug around in the little kitchenette nook that was housed in their quarters, nothing fancy, just a chillbox to hold sandwiches and a coffee maker. They’d been wedding presents, and well appreciated ones at that. His fingers fumbled over the pak before getting it situated. The coffee dripped into the pot, slow but steady, filling the room up with its warming scent.

“What th’ frell you think Fury wants that couldn’t wait ‘til a decent hour?” Unfair, really, since Fury was planetside back on the Triskelion and he was probably the only one who actually had a trackable schedule. Ship time was set from the ship’s home port, and that was Brooklyn. Not that they’d been there in -- well, for Bucky, he’d never been there as a member of the _Avenger’s_ crew. But Steve had some nostalgia for it.

“Frell if I know,” Tony grumbled, tugging at the tangled blankets. “If he’s doing live comms instead of just bouncing us a datapacket, though, it’s got to be something hot.” He reached under the bunk. “Aha!” He pulled out a pair of pants and tossed them in Bucky’s direction, and then started pulling on a set of ship’s coveralls.

Bucky poured a cup of coffee in between drips and shoved the pot back under the flow before they’d lost more than a spoonful. “Here, dollface,” he told Tony, because getting between his husband and the first cup of coffee in the morning was likely to get him hurt, unless he had time to placate an offended mechanic. He dug out sweetener and creamer for his, ignoring Tony’s “If you wanted a cup of milk an’ sugar, what’d you get coffee for” face.

He sighed, eyeing Tony’s baggy coveralls. “Only thing I miss ‘bout being planetside is you, wearin’ pants that I can actually see your ass through,” Bucky commented. He dumped the rest of the coffee into his cup, stirred it a few times. “Let’s go, before Cap gets back.” He fished in the chillbox and grabbed -- damn, their last two bagels. Well, if Fury had work for them, they’d probably get a supply run in. He bit into his and tucked Tony’s in the front of Tony’s coveralls.

Tony was too busy sucking down his coffee to complain about the bagel in his clothes. He fished it out with his free hand without even lowering the cup. “Bright side,” Tony said when he’d reached the bottom of his cup. “Maybe Natasha will have broken Cap’s fingers when he woke her up, and we’ll get to watch him talking to Fury and trying to pretend everything is fine and dandy.”

Bucky wondered if, along with the Extremis, Tony was spreading his thoughts around in Bucky’s head. “Right. Let’s go see what’s up.”

Fury was not only live-comming them, he was _waiting_ for them to assemble on the bridge. Bucky’s eyebrows went up, and then up some more.

Steve did not, unfortunately, appear to be sporting any undignified injuries. Too bad.

Clint was in the pilot’s chair, an extra large cup of coffee cradled against his chest. Despite that, he looked more than half asleep. “S’okay, we’re all here. What’s the hoopla?”

Even with live-com -- the message being transferred through a set of blackhole data points -- there was some delay, which gave them all plenty of time to watch Fury waiting for the picture to come back on their end.

“We have a problem,” Fury said, finally. “Three allied worlds, Brooklyn, Manhattan, and Queens, all in the New York cluster, have gone back on their word of support. Reports have come in that supplies destined for Enhancile-friendly territory were diverted and picked up by Hydra ships. Attempts have been made to communicate, but are going unanswered, and a courier ship has been shot down. Now, I know, you have no official ties with Triskelion government agencies or our allies at SHIELD, so I’m asking you, as concerned citizens, to investigate the matter. And, if possible, find out what happened to the couriers--” There was a brief flicker, and two projected images popped up, a balding man and a woman with dark hair and a ready smile. “-- Agents Coulson and Johnson, out of SHIELD.”

Clint sat back in the pilot’s chair as if the couriers’ images were ghosts come to suck out his soul. “Coulson’s _alive?_ ” he said, his voice cracking on the name.

“Indeed,” Fury said gravely.

Bucky’s eyebrows went up. “Since when are you chummy with Fury’s agents?”

“Since never,” Clint said. “Long story, I’ll tell it. Later.”

Tony was already on his portable, fingers dancing over the screen. “Any kind of backup you’re going to give us if we run into hostiles, there?” He sounded skeptical. “The frell is happening in New York? I’m not seeing any news coming out of that quadrant for at least the last two shifts.”

Nat, who looked surprisingly chipper, leaned over Tony’s shoulder. “I’ve done work out of that quadrant before, I know a few good infiltration points.” She poked his map program. “It’s cold, here, but no one will notice us landing, unless they’ve really upgraded in the meanwhile.”

“Great, cold,” Bucky said, rubbing at his arms. There were times when he woke, shivering, not sure where he was, convinced that he’d been put back in cryo. Or worse, sealed himself inside a shower unit. Actually being cold made those memories worse. Clearer. He reached out for Tony, his hand gripping the man’s shoulder, seeking warmth and comfort.

“Two carrier groups will put in,” Fury was saying, on the screen, “Just outside the Euphrates nebula. In case of worsening political climate, we can always claim that area as training for new pilots; the radiation signatures make sensors crazy, it’s a good place to train.”

Bruce scoffed. “No one believes training as an excuse. Ever. It’s right up there with _the sehlat ate my homework_.”

“But no one can deny it, either,” Tony pointed out. He leaned into Bucky’s touch, whether out of affection or understanding for Bucky’s need for comfort. He consulted his map for a moment more, then flicked the navigation path onto Clint’s screen. “I knew things were starting to get too relaxed around here. Send us the files on your missing agents so we have a better idea of who we’re looking for. And if there are any come-in-peace codewords we should use for them.”

“Coulson will trust me,” Clint said.

“Another reason to utilize this crew,” Fury said. “This is just an information gathering run. I want you in and out safely.”

“Sir, you know if I see a situation going south, I can’t just ignore it. I wish I could, but I can’t,” Steve said. He had his best pugnacious chin going. What the frell was Fury thinking, sending them _home_? Neither he nor Steve had been to Brooklyn in decades, but those were their people Fury was talking about there. More than half of Brooklyn’s population was enhanciles; old SSR folk and Shield soldiers were recruited from most of the New York cluster. Even Stark Industries had recruiting there.

“Yeah, if you wanted someone willing to cut and run if things are looking bleak, you called the wrong bunch of drifters,” Tony put in. He pulled out an article on the portable and handed it to Natasha with a raised eyebrow, then leaned over to look directly into the comm camera. “You give us the go-ahead to do what we feel is necessary, or you call someone else,” he said.

“Plausible deniability,” Nat said, in a low tone, her head turned so Fury couldn’t read her expression. “He wants to keep his hands clean, in case this goes really bad.”

That didn’t make the job any less urgent.

Fury consulted his map. “Assuming you’re taking the job, Captain, I’ll open a line of credit for you at Culver. Let me know ASAP, whatever you find out.”

***

At least Tony no longer had to bounce his comms signals off a dozen shadowbands just to talk to Pepper. As soon as Fury disconnected, he dropped into the copilot’s chair and grabbed control of the comm unit.

“Pepper,” he said as soon as the connection went through. “Light of my days, moon of my nights, my bright and shining star. I know it’s the middle of the night, please don’t kill me.”

The visual flickered on after a couple of minutes to show Pepper wrapped in a robe and looking sleep-rumpled and irritable. “If I could reach you,” she said, “I’d kill you. As it is, killing you is more work than it’s worth. Tell me what you need quickly, Tony, before I hang up.”

It was an idle threat; she had to know that if he was comming her directly, it was something important. “We’ve got a mission,” Tony told her, “and I need to know what news has been coming out of our facilities in the New York cluster lately. The newsbands are all completely quiet. Which is very much unlike New York.”

Pepper pinched the bridge of her nose. “I planned to cover it with you on your next regularly scheduled call, since your routine makes it difficult to track you down. At the moment, we’re holding our own. Happy’s not entirely sure where the problem started. The planetary government was progressing smoothly, according enhancile rights in compliance with the law. We thought it was a sure thing.”

“So did we,” Tony agreed. “So what happened?”

“Some say there was an incident, that the incumbent government was weeding out some of the stronger enhanciles under some public safety protocols. Shipping AIM or Hydra refugees to shelters outside of the cities, little better than concentration camps. Because no one could be sure about their loyalty.” She pushed a tangle of strawberry blonde hair out of her face. “Things got violent; which any student of history could have told them was going to happen.”

Tony made a face. “Yeah, that sort of thing never ends well.”

“There were four or five days of rioting, house-to-house fighting,” Pepper continued. “Happy pulled all SI personnel into the Tower and the main compound there, and sealed it. Our losses, so far, have been minimal. But the Tower is _sealed_. No one in, which also means food and water supplies have to last.“ Pepper gnawed on the side of her thumb, sharp little teeth showing for a moment before she tucked her thumb inside her fist.

Tony frowned. He’d designed the SI Tower on Manhattan. Sealing it was a capability that was supposed to be reserved for planetwide catastrophe. Had things really gotten that bad, or was Happy being paranoid?

“As far as we can tell, an Enhancile-run military government has taken control of most of the cluster.” She shuddered delicately. “They’ve been holding public executions. And suddenly, we’ve got Hydra _everywhere_. I don’t understand it.”

“Wait, an _Enhancile_ -run government? If the government is in Enhancile hands, why would they withdraw support of the Enhancile Rights Act? That doesn’t make any sense.” Tony glanced over his shoulder at the rest of the crew. They looked as perplexed as he felt. “Okay,” he told Pepper. “That’s... disheartening. We need to get in and out, preferably without attracting too much attention. Do we have any grey market landing codes? Something that will slip us in without anyone looking too closely?”

“I can send you some packets,” Pepper promised, “but with the government all in disarray, it’s hard to know what criminal groups will throw in with the new dictators. I’ll tell you, Tony, none of it makes sense. If you have to go there, use _extreme caution_. Our plans, as we’re forming them, were to send in the troops for an exfiltration of the facility until the planet can provide a more stable environment. War might be profitable, but not at ground zero.”   

Tony made a face. “That might not be possible. The Tower holds a _lot_ of people. I don’t know how you’d sneak even a tenth of them off-planet without alerting someone.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay. Well, forewarned is forearmed. Hold off on any plans you have until I report back -- I don’t want to get caught up in it by accident, and I might be able to pass you some useful intel.”

“Tony,” Pepper said, very seriously, leaning in toward the viewer, “please be careful. I don’t--”

Whatever she said next was completely swallowed up by the fact that a figure walked into the room behind her, wearing a gold and brown bathrobe. A very  _familiar_ figure.

“ _Rhodey?_ ” Tony stared. “What the frell are you doing-- No, wait, I don’t want details. When did this happen?”

Rhodey ran a hand over his face. “I don’t want to discuss this right now. It’s three in the damn morning. G’nite Tones,” he said. He reached past Pepper and punched the disconnect. For just a moment, Tony got a still of Pepper, her pale cheeks flaming, and Rhodey’s finger, before the whole screen went dark.

“Huh.” He sat back in the chair, unable to tear his eyes away from the dark screen. “I mean... Huh.”

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Your secretary’s sex life is somehow relevant to the matter at hand?”

Bucky cuffed the back of Clint’s head as if on automatic. “Pepper’s his CEO, she’s hardly a _secretary_. Act like you got some manners.”

Tony shook off the stunned feeling. He’d deal with Pepper and Rhodey and Pepper-and-Rhodey later. “Okay, so. That wasn’t the best news we could’ve gotten.” He swiveled the chair around to look up at the rest of the crew. “This is going to be a frell of a job.”

Steve was scowling. “Why would the enhanced side with Hydra on anything? We already _know_ they can’t be trusted, even if they’re currently spouting some Inhumans First nonsense.”

“This is just a guess, but I suspect it’s connected to the information Fury wants us to gather,” Tony said. “We’ll just have to be as sneaky as we can be, getting in and out.” He eyed Natasha. “Can we do it?”

“In is always easier than out,” Nat said. “Spiders, webs, traps. You know how it goes. I won’t know for certain until we’re in. But I have contacts all over the New York cluster. Some enhanciles, some not. We should at least be able to find someone with a favor or three that can help us.”

Tony nodded, then looked back at Steve. “Cap? Are we doing this, or calling Fury back to tell him where to stick his information-gathering mission?”

“I grew up on Brooklyn,” Steve said. Not that there was anyone on the Avenger who didn’t know that, but it was rarely relevant. No one that Cap knew when he was a young man could possibly be alive, unless they were in the same boat, so to speak. “Been fighting my whole life to keep Brooklyn out of Hydra hands. I’m not about to stop _now_.”

“Well then,” Tony said. He blew out a breath and stood up. “I’ll need to go do some quasi-legal things to our engines to alter their emissions fingerprints.”

Clint heaved a huge sigh and when he was finished blowing it out, it seemed as if all of them had shrunk three sizes. “Plotting a course to Culver, Captain,” he said.

“Get your shopping lists together,” Steve said. “Bruce, lay in a good supply for medical. And Tony, don’t fry us in your enthusiasm.”

“No promises.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sehlats are vulcan dogs, as seen in Star Trek, the cartoon series


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the crew lays in supplies, and gets in a little R&R.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut averse readers, skip everything after the first scene break.

Culver had been a forward thinking planet since its inception. Home to one of the largest collections of knowledge since the fabled Library at Alexandria on Old Earth -- if that had ever really existed -- the society was run almost entirely on a meritocracy, with a surprisingly forward-thinking philosophy about enhanciles. It had long been a haven for the lost and dispossessed.

The port was ridiculously clean, Bucky thought, even the second tier port where Clint had put the _Avenger_ down, because even when he was spending someone else’s money, Steve was a skinflint.

“It’s a boggle,” Bucky commented, breathing deeply of fresh, uncanned air. “Hate, hate, hate bein’ landbound. Love being on a ship, any ship. But at th’ same time, there’s somethin’ deeply satisfyin’ about walking onto the port.”

Tony tucked his arm through Bucky’s. “It’s all that uncanned oxygen,” he suggested, a spark of humor in his eyes. “Goes right to your frontal lobes.”

“It’s the lighter gravity,” Bruce said. “Culver’s at seven-tenths earth-norm. You should try landing on Sokovia sometime, if you want to feel free from gravity. It’s as bad as a deep-space station.” He was tapping his portable, not looking where he was going. Not a smart plan, as the good doctor sometimes reacted badly when jostled in a crowd. Bucky drew another deep breath, spread his arms a little, and thought _murder_. The way in front of them cleared rapidly.

“Mm, I love your murder strut,” Tony said under his breath, shooting Bucky a sidelong glance. A little louder, he pointed out a port directory and steered toward it, looking for the shops they needed. “Here’s medical supply, Bruce.” He pointed. “And ohhh, they have a robotics junkshop.” He grinned at Bucky.

“Captain has certain weight restrictions to work with,” Bruce reminded Tony absent-mindedly. “Before you go crazy buying bits and parts.”

“Killjoy,” Bucky said. “I’ll have you know, Tony’s building himself an entire robotic family. It’s pretty impressive, really, if you overlook their fondness for motor oil and enthusiasm for the fire extinguisher.”

“That’s not enthusiasm,” Bruce pointed out. “I’ve seen some of Tony’s experiments. That’s enlightened self-interest, is what that is.”

“Laugh all you want,” Tony said. “They’ll remember who mocked them when it’s time for the robot uprising.”

“Let’s stick to one uprising at a time,” Steve said firmly, “and the necessary items on our shopping lists.”

“Live a little, Stevie,” Bucky said. “Look, there’s a festival tonight, over in the square. Go find a willing partner. Go kiss someone.”

Steve looked impossibly hurt. “I’m ninety-seven, not dead.”

“So you’ve kissed someone, what, in the last… decade?”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Steve said, primly, a bit of color in his cheeks, “but quite a bit more recently than that.” And with that, he strode off, before anyone could ask any more questions.

Bucky blinked. “Is somethin’ goin’ on that I don’t know about?”

Tony shook his head. “I don’t know.” He looked back at the others. “Any of you guys been holding out on the good gossip?”

“I am not fucking the captain,” Clint said, spreading his hands in an exaggerated hands-off gesture. “Besides that, don’t know, don’t care, don’t care to know.”

“I’d say he’d started up with Carter again, ‘cept we haven’t seen her in months, an’ she said she was done with that part of her life anyway,” Bucky said, his mouth twisting a little. Tony thought of the woman as an aunt or maternal figure of one sort or other and wasn’t always keen on thinking of her as the fresh young agent with the bright-painted lips that Bucky remembered from his days with the Commandos, during the Second Hydra war.

Nat gave Tony a sly look. “What are you offering, for the good gossip? My information always comes at a price.”

“Do you actually _have_ good gossip? If it’s the real deal, I’ll offer up a standard week’s worth of use of my lab shower.”

“I do have good gossip,” Nat said, buffing her nails against her shirt. “A week’s shower privileges and I want an upgrade to my batons. Also, ice cream.”

Bucky scoffed. “No gossip is that good.”

Tony considered her thoughtfully. “Shower for paying up. Upgrade and ice cream contingent on value.”

“I feel you’re not trusting me, here,” Nat said, looking off toward the market, bouncing on her toes to see over Clint’s head. “If I have to accept your value judgement, I need chocolate, too. You’re hurting my feelings, here.”

“No, I’m not,” Tony said. “But done. Let’s have this so-valuable gossip of yours.”

Nat laughed, a delightful little tinkling sound and Bucky jerked his chin toward her, his stomach doing that weird sort of thing, and he knew, he frelling--

“When was the last time you actually saw me sleeping in my own bunk?” Nat asked.

_Knew it._

“Never,” Tony said. “I have never seen you sleeping in your bunk, because I am not suicidal enough to _oh frelling dren_.”

“Well, that might explain why she didn’t break his fingers the other day,” Bruce commented, not looking particularly surprised. Or interested.

“Did you know about this?!” Tony demanded of Bruce. He looked at Clint. “What about you? Are the two of you shacking up and I didn’t realize it?”

“I have not, in the vernacular, _shacked up_ in quite a while,” Bruce said. “It confuses the Big Guy, and I don’t want to try to live with that trauma, thanks.”

“I have a pair of arms in every port,” Clint said, expansively. “A plug in every socket. A hot dog in every--”

“We get it, Hawkeye,” Bucky said, shuddering.

“Well, of course you do,” Clint said. “You’re _married_. I have to work for it.”

“I may be traumatized,” Tony said plaintively. He leaned into Bucky’s side. “You’ll comfort me, won’t you?”

“You won’t have time for comfort,” Nat told him. “You’ll be using the sonic shower and fixing my gear. Ice cream, too, Stark. Mint chocolate chip, if you can find it, but I’m not picky, as long as it’s not melting.”

Bucky put his arm around Tony’s shoulders. “Why the trauma, I thought you an’ Clint used to hook up, before I came aboard.”

Tony stared at his husband. “Where. Where would you get that impression.”

“Clint,” Bucky said, as if this was obvious. “He said if he couldn’t find something better, and what’s better than _you_?”

“Now _I’m_ gonna be traumatized,” Clint said.

“You are provisionally forgiven,” Tony said, leaning back into Bucky’s side. “As long as you help me find chocolate for Natasha.”

“Food sounds good,” Bucky said, grinning. “I have a certain fondness for funnel cakes and fried cheese.”

***

The proprietor of the parts store was a woman with grease on her chin and her hair in multicolored lock-curls, and Tony honestly couldn’t have been talking to her for more than a few minutes when Bucky kissed his cheek. “I’m gonna get us some supplies an’ a room, baby,” Bucky told him. “I’ll beam you th’ direction when I get checked in. Jus’ come on over when you’re done.”

A room, now... Tony loved space, he loved ships, but even their luxurious bunk was still a bunk. A room with a real _bed_... That was something to look forward to. He tugged Bucky back in for a brief kiss. “We going to be on the ground long enough to actually sleep, too?” he asked hopefully.

“Steve’s gonna do a full re-oxy, and those fuel crystals need a once-over by port-authority. We’ll be here until day after tomorrow,” Bucky reminded him.

Tony beamed. “Get that room for both nights, then,” he suggested. “We don’t get that kind of luxury very often.” He watched Bucky go, then turned back to the shop proprietor, who was looking indulgently amused. “Right, so about those condenser coils.”

Tony let himself get pulled back into the business at hand, and stayed to poke through the rest of the store, mind spinning with ideas for things that they absolutely did not have the space or weight allowance to store. He jotted some notes on his portable, though -- it was possible that one or two of those ideas might spin into something that SI could use.

He half-expected Fury’s credit to dry up mid-transaction, but it held steady. Tony took advantage to order a few upgraded parts for the BEHS drive and the oxy converter, both of which were constantly in need of repair. He was arranging for delivery of all the new equipment to the ship when his portable buzzed with a message from Bucky, a local address and a room number.

Tony grinned and finished up his business with as much speed as he could muster, and then went in search of the nearest port directory for directions.

Back on Malibu, Tony had his pick of fancy hotels; and even when he’d traveled, sometimes, in his old life, he’d never been without luxury. It wasn’t until he’d been kidnapped that Tony had really learned to deal with austerity.

This was… something in the middle; a rustic-seeming building of three stories with an inner courtyard and water fountain. The rooms lined the courtyard, each with a private balcony. Bucky had gotten them a place on the top floor.

Tony rapped on the door and barely got a glimpse of the huge room, with a ridiculously large bed and a fire laid in the fireplace with thick carpet on the floor in front of the fire, before Bucky put a hand over his eyes. “Hey honey,” Bucky said, his voice pitched low, and he pressed against Tony’s back, keeping his eyes covered.

“Hi there,” Tony said, leaning back into Bucky’s chest. “What’s this?”

“Do you trust me?” Bucky nipped at Tony’s earlobe, a bright spark of sensation before purring directly into his ear.

“Of course.” Tony reached up to curl his fingers around the back of Bucky’s neck.

“I got you some presents,” Bucky said, “an’ I want ‘em to be a surprise.” A tickle of fabric brushed over Tony’s cheek. “Do… do you mind if I…?” He trailed off, uncertainly.

“Go ahead,” Tony said readily. “I trust you.”

The cloth slipped over Tony’s eyes and with a quick jerk, Bucky fastened it around the back of his head, being careful not to catch his hair. “That okay?” Bucky ran a teasing finger along the back of Tony’s neck, gently, the slick metal pad a little chilly.

Tony shivered at the light touch, but nodded. “Just right,” he said. “You didn’t even pull any hair. I’m impressed. So what’s next?”

Bucky turned him, gently, and his fingers were busy on the fasteners of Tony’s shirt. “Void, you are so beautiful,” Bucky murmured, his hand going down to the arc reactor, drawn like a magnet. The new power source that ran Bucky’s arm thrummed in time with the reactor, easing the strain in Tony’s chest, something he rarely noticed anymore except on those few occasions where it stopped.

“Here, put your hand on my shoulder,” Bucky told him, positioning Tony’s wrist. “Gonna take your shoes off.” Which he did, one at a time. Tony balanced precariously on one foot, then the other, fingers tight on Bucky’s shoulder.

Then his sleeves were pushed off his shoulders and a brief whisper as Bucky tossed the clothing aside. Still in his denims, but nothing else, the room was a little chilly. “Come here, got the fire all set up, an’ all. Gets cold at night,” Bucky said. “Okay, just follow me, nice an’ slow. I won’t let you trip over nothin’.”

Bucky led him a dozen steps across the room and the carpet was plush under his bare feet. “Down we go,” Bucky said, keeping Tony steady while they both went to their knees in front of the fireplace. The heat crackled to one side and there was a smell there, wafting around, honey and toasted nuts and--

Something cool and firm was pressed against his mouth, the scent sweet and reminding Tony, impossibly, of summer.

Tony opened his mouth, and Bucky placed something small on his tongue. He bit down, gently at first, and let out a moan when the juice of it flooded his mouth. “Oh, _dren_ , where did you find _strawberries_?”

“We’re on a planet,” Bucky said, and Tony could almost imagine the smirk. “They have farms an’ _everything_. Another?” There was a soft clink and a gurgle of liquid, like something pouring into a cup.

“Yes, please,” Tony said. He leaned toward Bucky, anticipating, opening his mouth as soon as the berry touched his lips. “Frell, that’s good. I love the _Avenger_ , but I wish she were big enough for a hydroponics bay.”

“Well, they have a nice little farmer’s market here,” Bucky said. “They had a ton of samples an’ booths. So, I got a little of this, little of that.” Bucky’s thumb brushed under Tony’s lip for a moment, then a soft, wet sound like Bucky licked his finger off.

“Yeah? What else have you got?”

“Well, I found a gourmet chocolate booth,” Bucky told him, “and they had just about the ripest plums I ever saw. Those didn’t make it back, sorry, babe. I ate ‘em all. But we can go again tomorrow.” Another strawberry, followed by the cool press of a glass against his mouth and a few swallows of a fruity, fragrant wine, either a light red or a rose, it was hard to tell without being familiar with the local grape.

“Mmm, that’s nice,” Tony approved. “We’ll have to go back to take care of Natasha, anyway.”

“Okay, open wide,” Bucky told Tony. “This is a little messy.” What Tony got in his mouth was a sweet burst of flavor, with a hint of smoke and spice, definitely onions in there, and a bottom of a thick, chewy bread or cracker of some sort.

“That’s not bad at all,” Tony said when he’d swallowed it. “What is it? I couldn’t quite figure it out.”

Something clinked again, and then a spoon, with just a tiny bit on the end. “That’s one piece of it, you might be able to identify it better. Tastes right, looks weird. The hybrid they got growin’ here is blue, not yellow.”

Something usually yellow... Tony bit down on the piece Bucky had fed him, and its sweetness was clearer this time. “Oh, it’s corn! Some kind of, what, a relish? That’s good, we should get some of that to take with us, if it’s preserved.”

“Good job,” Bucky said, and suddenly his mouth was on Tony’s, flicking the end of his tongue over Tony’s lip before pulling back. “Yeah, it’s in a jar. The bread’s fresh, tho. Won’t last. But we could get crackers, or somethin’.”

He fed Tony another handful of bread bits with the relish on it. “Ready for your actual dinner course?”

“There’s more? You really went all out.” Tony sniffed at the air for a clue.

“This one you probably--” Bucky said, then stopped. “I’ll let you guess.” What he offered Tony was cool, a little oily, with a tang of something sharp and peppery in the smell.

The texture said meat, wrapped around something smooth and creamy like cheese. There was a bite to it, some kind of spicy condiment. The meat was too irregular for vat-grown, a string of fat through the middle of it. “Real meat, really? I haven’t had real meat in years, I don’t think. Even when we were on Triskelion, it was all vat-grown. And some kind of cheese? Good combination, too. Did you sample a bunch of different kinds or get a local’s recommendation?”

“They had a lot of samples,” Bucky said. “This was the best, although there was this… yearling stew with root vegetables that I think you’ll like. The cheese comes from these half-sized critters; they had some there, to pet them, if you wanted to. Like goats, only fluffier.”

Tony was just starting to get full; the wine didn’t go quite as well with the meat rolls as it did with the strawberries, but you couldn’t have everything, he supposed.  “And… dessert.”

Definitely not chocolate. That had a very distinctive smell. This was… toasted nuts and… something. Bucky pressed a bit of sticky, flaky goodness into his mouth, then leaned over and licked Tony’s chin as a droplet of it oozed down.

Tony ducked his head to catch Bucky’s lips before he went back to enjoying his dessert. Nuts and pastry and syrup of some sort. “Okay, I give up,” Tony said. “It’s familiar, but I’m not recognizing it.” He licked the syrup off his lips.

“The vendor told me it’s called _baklava_ ,” Bucky said, sounding the word out awkwardly. “Dozens of thin pastry sheets, layered with butter and nuts and then soaked in honey.”

“Oh! I’ve had this before,” Tony said. He opened his mouth for another sticky bite. “Yeah. Now that I know, it’s obvious. The honey here tastes a little different from the honey in Malibu, though. I wonder what the local bees look like.”

“I wasn’t gonna be pettin’ a bee,” Bucky said. “Their signs to advertise looked pretty much like every bee I ever saw. Small, little furious wings, and a bitey end on the butt.” Bucky gave him another bite of dessert and a glob of honey and nuts splattered down his chin and landed on Tony’s chest in a sticky mess.

Tony laughed a little. “Probably imported,” he guessed, even as he leaned back onto his elbows. “Going to help me clean that up?”

Bucky made a low sounding groan and then his mouth was on Tony’s skin, a few swipes of his tongue getting most of it. “Not gonna _waste_ it,” he muttered, as if Tony was complaining. Not hardly. Tony heard Bucky swallow, just before his mouth came down again, thoroughly licking and tasting, leaving Tony’s skin wet and sensitive.

Tony arched into it, reveling in every sensation, seemingly redoubled for the lack of vision. Tony’s hands smoothed over Bucky’s arms and shoulders, slid one up into Bucky’s hair, the other down his spine, holding him close.

“All done with dessert, baby?” Bucky asked him, after cleaning his skin so thoroughly there couldn’t possibly be any trace of honey left. He kissed Tony’s mouth, then the very tip of his nose, brushed his lips over each of Tony’s cheeks and ended with a nuzzle at Tony’s throat.

“Well, with the food, anyway,” Tony agreed. He tipped his head back to let Bucky in closer. “Should I leave the blindfold on for the rest of dessert, too?”

“You want to?” Bucky asked him, nipping at his throat, then down his collarbone. “You’re so… open like this. Like, not bein’ able to see _me,_ everythin’ is written all over your face.”

“Yeah?” Tony hadn’t realized that. That was... okay, he thought. Maybe a little embarrassing, if he thought about it too long, but it was _Bucky_. “Makes everything feel more intense,” he said. “Could be fun.”

“Alright,” Bucky said.  He pushed Tony backward until he was sprawled out on the thick blanket, warm and fluffy against his skin. “Stay put while I clean up a bit.” There was a clink of glassware and a sense of movement, but before Bucky could get too far, a brush of… cloth or skin, Tony couldn't tell, that went down his chest, across his belly and disappeared just over the fastener of his pants.

Tony listened to the soft rustling sounds of Bucky cleaning up their dinner, felt the warm glow of the fire heating his skin on one side. If he concentrated, he could smell the remains of dinner, a bright mixture of honey and strawberries and wine. He moved one hand idly, feeling the softness of the blanket under him, pushing the nap of it one way and then the other.

His husband was quiet as a cat when he wanted to be, moving and barely disturbing the air. A press of fingers against his hip was all the warning Tony got before Bucky's lips were on his, feather light and warm. “Can't resist you,” Bucky said, as if apologizing for it. Whisper breaths as Bucky moved across his face, dusting his skin with kisses. He even felt the fluttering of Bucky's eyelashes against his cheek, like butterfly wings.

Tony reached out, found Bucky’s skin, touched. “Don’t,” he advised. Bucky’s skin was warm from being close to the fire, smooth like satin over firm muscle. “Love you so much.”

“If I didn't resist sometimes, we'd like to never get anything else done.” Bucky scraped at Tony's collarbone with his teeth, then soothed it with his tongue. “An’ Steve'd put us off at the next port for bein’ worthless hedonists.” A cool hand slid down his chest and started playing with the buttons on his trousers, almost idly.

“Steve would never put you off,” Tony said. “He might start charging us passage, though.” He grinned, then gasped and arched as Bucky’s hand brushed against his dick. “Now,” he added. “Now would be an excellent time to not resist, though.”

“Oh, I ain't,” Bucky said, and he pulled the button open, tugging the zipper down. He reached in, hand pressed in tight within the confines of the fabric. “Not tonight.” He wriggled his fingers around and then gently straightened Tony out before stroking him several times, rubbing the heel of his hand against Tony's dick.

“Oh, _frell_ , that feels good,” Tony groaned. He half-sat, groping for Bucky, pulling him in for a kiss.

“ _You_ feel good,” Bucky told him, tracing his fingertip along the crown and against the ridge. He let Tony pull him in for the kiss, never stopping his restless, relentless fingers. His tongue parted Tony's lips, painting warm strokes along the inside of his cheek. “Taste pretty good, too.”

“You taste like honey and wine,” Tony said. “I approve.” He slid a hand down Bucky’s chest, the skin warm and bare. He wasn’t sure when Bucky had taken his shirt off. He wasn’t sure if Bucky was wearing any clothes at all and that was an intriguing idea, too. He felt for Bucky’s nipples, teasing them into peaks.

Bucky moaned, pushing against Tony’s wandering hands, his weight coming down on Tony’s hips as he shifted to keep his balance. “Oh, oh, Tony…” he stuttered. He stropped himself against Tony’s leg, a heated pressure through the fabric of Tony’s denims. “You’re so damn beautiful, you break my heart.” He kissed Tony again, and again, a third time and the ragged edge of his breathing was an echo of the way his body trembled.

“Shh, honey,” Tony soothed, though he felt like he might vibrate right out of his own skin soon. “Just want to feel you, taste you... You’re so warm, just want to wrap myself up in you.” His hand skated downward over Bucky’s ribs and stomach. He leaned in for another kiss, then traced his way along that sweet mouth, over Bucky’s jaw, to suck and lick at Bucky’s throat. “Perfect.”

Bucky lowered himself down, until he was laying on top of Tony, one thigh parting Tony’s legs, a little snug against his pants, which were still on, and uggg, that was so annoying. He needed to get on that, right away. Dissolving clothing, that was a thought. Right up until Bucky’s hand threaded into his hair and he took possession of Tony’s mouth like he was drowning and Tony was air. His mouth opened Tony’s and it was more than wanting, needing. It was _loving_ , the slow, perfect pain of being so close, and not yet _having…_

Tony moaned into it, yielding his mouth to Bucky’s exploration, then tipping his chin and reaching out to map Bucky’s mouth in turn. Every brush of tongue, every soft scrape of teeth, every rasp of beard seemed fresh and new, and even if Tony usually closed his eyes when they kissed, knowing he couldn’t simply look into Bucky’s beautiful eyes was both torture and liberation. Tony cupped Bucky’s face in his hands, pushed his fingers through Bucky’s hair, arched his body against Bucky’s. Let himself _feel_ and _need_ and _want_.

Responding with more wanton kisses, Bucky groaned his own needs and wants against Tony’s skin. He worked his way down, abandoning Tony’s mouth for other parts, stopping to tease at a nipple, circling his fingers around the arc-reactor before heading lower. His beard was a delicious friction against Tony’s belly, and then -- finally, he was tugging Tony’s hips up to get him out of his damn pants.

His hands curved under Tony’s ass, pulling and struggling to get the denims off until they were past his feet and Tony was kicking them away.

For a long, long moment, there was nothing, only Tony and blackness and the heavy feel that Bucky was _looking_ at him.

Tony turned his head, trying to find the sound of Bucky’s breathing. He reached out with one hand, trying to feel for Bucky’s warmth, needing it despite the heat pouring out of the fireplace. “Honey?”

“Right here, doll,” Bucky said and twined his fingers with Tony. “Just can’t get over how you look, in the firelight, like this.” There was a soft sound of plastic, the snick of lube being popped open one-handed. Tony shifted, spreading his knees for Bucky, but instead, Bucky ran his lube-coated fingers down Tony’s length. Soft, silky, he cupped Tony and stroked him, the lube making his hand almost frictionless, and yet, at the same time, a perfect slide and pressure. “So,” and Bucky’s voice was low and wicked, “you want to help me, or you want me t’ just tell you what I’m doin’?”

“I say, is it too much to ask for both?” Tony grinned in Bucky’s general direction. “Or you could tell me what to do, to help out. That sounds like fun. Very detailed instructions, you know, since I can’t see.”

“Gimme your hand, baby,” Bucky told him, and then poured a line of lubricant down his fingers. “Want you t’ help me. Want you to open me up, get me ready for you, and then I am gonna ride you like a gorram hoverbike.”

“Oh, _dren_ ,” Tony said, suddenly breathless. “Are we, uh. Skipping over all of Bruce’s warnings about fluids, then?”

“I’m fine,” he told Tony earnestly. “And I want you. Want to feel that closeness, th’ way you love me, th’ way it touches everything inside me. Seems like I want it more when I’m bein’ told I can’t have it.” He kissed the inside of Tony’s wrist, then helped him roll over on his side. “Here, touch me, baby, I need you.” He tapped the back of Tony’s hand against… what was _probably_ his thigh, maybe? Thick with muscle, a tickle of hair, the angle suggested it was.

Tony slid the back of his hand along the skin, up and down, finding -- no, that was a knee, the other way -- Bucky’s balls and crack. “Oh, there you are,” he purred. He pressed at Bucky’s perineum a little, teasing, then slipped his fingers into Bucky’s crack, feeling for the hole. “There you are,” he repeated, smug, when Bucky’s breath hitched.

He circled the rim, pushing the lube up inside, letting his fingertips catch and tug at the muscle. “Like this, honey? Gotta tell me what you want.”

“Mmm,” Bucky murmured, body rocking against Tony’s hand. “Like it when you push your thumb there, just over the opening, and rub, that feels… oh, yeah, Tony, like that, little circles, makes me all squirmy an’ hot.” He sounded hot, like he was blushing furiously, and Tony found himself wondering what that bronze skin looked like in the firelight, neck red, and mouth puffy from kisses, but determined, nonetheless, to play this game they’d set on.

“Wish I could see you,” Tony said. “Love making you blush, it’s so pretty.” He pressed a little harder, tugging gently at the rim, circling. “Maybe next time you’ll get the blindfold, and I’ll get to see all the sweet faces you make for me. Are you biting your lip? I bet you are. Makes me want to kiss you, hard and deep.”

Bucky snorted, body jolting a little. “I am. Was. Don’t even realize it half th’ time,” he said. “You c’n kiss me if you want, I’ll help you get upright, on your knees, jus’ like I am. Be easier t’ reach, that way, I reckon.” He ran his metal hand up Tony’s shoulder, then guided him up, moving and shifting until the inside of his thigh was pressed against the outside of Tony’s, spread wide open. “Kiss me, then.”

Tony didn’t need a second invitation. He found Bucky’s mouth and sucked that pouting lip between his teeth, licked at it to soothe the tender skin, and dove into Bucky’s mouth, tongue scraping along the roof of Bucky’s mouth, tracing his teeth, mapping every inch. “Frell, you make me crazy in the best ways,” Tony panted.

“Takin’ me with you,” Bucky agreed, breath coming faster as he rocked himself against Tony’s hand. “There, go ahead, let me… oh, yeah, Tony, I… here, gimme your hand a second, more lube an’ I can take another. Wanna feel you stretchin’ me out.”

“Yeah?” Tony felt the cool of the lube on his fingers, then went back to circling and tugging, slipping a second finger in, reaching deep and then curling his fingers, searching. “Want to get you all ready for me,” he said. “Want to feel you tight and hot all around me, squeezing me, making me get so hard, so...”

“I’ll make you hard, all right,” Bucky growled, and then his hand was on Tony’s cock, tugging light, stroking harder on the downward motion, urging Tony to thrust up into his fist, those cool metal fingers wrapped around him tight. He thumbed over the crown, smearing precome over the sensitive skin.

“Oh dren,” Tony gasped, hips rocking involuntarily. He held onto Bucky’s hip and pressed deeper, scissoring his fingers as much as he could, stretching. “Come on, sweetheart, want you. Want you so much.”

“Lay back,” Bucky gasped. “I can… please, I can… now, now, _now_.” He groaned again, a deep, almost pained sound as Tony pulled his fingers free.

“Okay,” Tony said. He laid back, curling his hands over Bucky’s hips. “Okay, come on, I’m ready, so gorram ready for you...”

“Yeah, I got that, baby, got you,” Bucky said. One hand planted next to Tony’s ear, the servos in his fingers whining, and the other cupped Tony’s face for another quick kiss. He straddled Tony’s hips. “Hold it steady for me, yeah? Yeah, just…” Bucky pushed against him, and then slid down. Heat and slick and tight and wet and warm, and oh, void he moved like a glacier, slow and steady. His chest heaved for air, the breaths whistling out of his throat as he moved. “Tony. Tony, Tony, frell, Tony.” He was chanting Tony’s name like prayers.

“Yeah, honey, I’ve got you, sweetheart,” Tony answered, a string of half-nonsense. “You feel so good, so frelling good, oh, honey, Bucky, _dren_ , yes.”

Bucky slid down further, until his thighs were tight on Tony’s hips, until Tony was buried deep inside Bucky’s body. It was perfect; each little movement magnified by not being able to see, by trusting Bucky to hold them both perfectly in that moment.

And then Bucky _moved_.

He moved like a dancer, arched back and away until there was empty air all around Tony, except that one place where they were joined, and Bucky’s thighs tight against Tony’s hips. And he rocked, soft and sensual, slow and sinuous. “Oh… Tony’s that…” He couldn’t seem to form a coherent sentence, barely words at all as he moaned prettily and swayed. He never stopped moving, his whole body seeming to clench around that one single part of Tony, moving them together, in exquisite harmony.

Void, it felt... it felt exactly right, and better than it ever had before, at the same time, Bucky’s weight settled over him, Bucky’s body on him, around him, the slick slide of the motion building up a supernova of heat in Tony’s veins. “Bucky, oh, sweetheart, that’s... Not going to last much longer,” he panted. “Come on, want you with me, want to feel you coming.” He clenched his hands on Bucky’s hips and met Bucky’s rolling motion with a thrust upward, driving deeper.

Bucky touched Tony’s fingers, coaxed him to loosen his grip, led him, palm first, until Tony brushed against Bucky’s cock. Together, his hand over Tony’s the whole time, he stroked off until he stiffened. His body squeezed around Tony’s, his thighs clenching against Tony’s hips. “Oh… _Tony_!” His name came out as a strangled scream, needy and desperate and full of pleasure. Splatters of his come hit Tony in the chest, hot and wet and slippery. “Tony… oh, void, Tony!”

“That’s it, that’s perfect, oh _dren_ , you’re so amazing,” Tony babbled, because Bucky was amazing and needed to know that, and Tony was probably starting to peak, too, if he was babbling so much. “Honey, Bucky, oh frell, that’s good, that’s _perfect_ , you--” Tony’s climax washed over him with the sudden shock of a gravity dump, leaving him feeling just as weightless and loose. “Bucky,” he panted, and pulled the blindfold off, blinking in the sudden influx of light and looking up at his husband.

Bucky was staring down at Tony like Tony was some sort of minor miracle. He was glistening with sweat, practically glowing in the firelight, absolutely beautiful, his face transformed into something fey and godlike. Open, honest, raw, everything in his expression was on display for Tony, a deep and enduring adoration; it scraped a little, touched at those parts of Tony that thought maybe, he didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve any of it. But it was too real and tender to deny any of it.

He reached up and brushed his knuckles down Bucky’s cheek, tucked the fall of hair back behind Bucky’s ear. “Hey there, gorgeous.”

“Ain’t you somethin’ else, Tony Stark,” Bucky said. He tipped his head to kiss Tony’s hand. “Love you, dollface. So much.”

“Love you too,” Tony said. He lifted his head to kiss Bucky, slow and leisurely. “Now,” he said after a moment, “do you think we could take advantage of that bed?”

Bucky nuzzled once more at Tony’s mouth, then tipped him a grin. “Maybe after we take advantage of their water shower.”


	5. Chapter 5

By the time Tony and Bucky made it back to the _Avenger_ , Tony was grateful for having spent two nights in a real bed. All his parts had been delivered, and now he had to either install them or stow them. The engine room was spacious, but some of the new parts were bulky.

Tony swapped out his lighter planetside clothes for his ship’s coveralls and went to work. He had to half-disassemble the BEHS drive to replace its resonance plates, to begin with. He was crouched inside the drive, a screwdriver between his teeth and a soldering iron in his hand, when someone cleared their throat at the door to the engine room.

Bucky would’ve just come in. So would Steve. And the voice was too low for Natasha. Which left Clint or Bruce. Tony finished installing the secondary plate and tested the connection before looking up to find Clint hovering in the doorway. “What’s up?”

“I was hoping you’d have a little extra storage space in here,” Clint said. He took a couple of steps into the room and looked around with a grimace. “I’m not seeing much, though.”

“There’ll be a little more space once I get that primary condenser coil swapped out,” Tony said. “Though that’s lower on my to-do list, at the moment. How much do you need?”

“Uh. A lot,” Clint admitted. “I might have done some experimenting in port to see how far Fury’s credit would stretch.”

Tony’s eyebrows went up. “How far did it stretch?”

“Pretty far,” Clint said. “I’ve got about six crates of fruity oaty bars and reconned pizzas and some of those tins of powdered chocolatey drink here.”

“You bought six crates of junk food?” Even for Clint, that was a lot.

“Nah,” Clint said. “I bought closer to twenty. But I’ve already stowed as much as I could in the cargo hold, and I’ve still got ten crates left over.”

Tony stared at him.

Clint grinned sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t tell your health-food obsessed husband, or he’ll space it all. Again.”

“Do you... think he’s not going to _notice?_ ” Tony asked. “You know, with the crates all over the engine room, which -- by the way -- is the only way to get to our _quarters_?”

“He doesn’t have to know what’s in the crates,” Clint said. “They’re not marked or anything, except with my name.”

“That’s probably enough to clue him in,” said Tony. “Fury’s going to have you dismantled and sold for spare parts when he gets the bill.”

Clint waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, but by then we’ll be entering the New York cluster, so he’ll have to sit on it until we’re back, and he’ll probably have cooled down a little by then.”

“We are talking about the same Fury, right? One eye, name is synonymous with _rage_?” Tony threw up his hands. “I can probably fit a couple of crates in here, over there, if you re-stack those smaller containers under that workbench. But you’re sharing the goods! And when -- not _if_ , but _when_ \-- Bucky finds out, you’re doing the explaining.”

Tony shifted positions and carefully lifted the tertiary plate into position as Clint got to work rearranging his pods and buckets of bits and bobs.

“This one’s-- no, maybe this one--” Clint was opening his crates and peering in them. “Ah, here.” He handed Tony a clear plastic jar of orange paste. “Cheez Whiz!”

“And what do I do with this?” Tony wondered. It was a far cry from the fresh delicacies he and Bucky had found at the farmer’s market just off the port. “Please don’t say I’m supposed to eat it. That’s just sad.”

Clint scoffed. “It’s good! You can melt it, for chips, or I suppose if you have to, vegetables. Look, it’s cheese and it doesn’t spoil.”

Tony pointed at the side of the jar. “It says _cheese food_ here. It’s not cheese. It’s what cheese eats!”

Clint lifted a finger like he was going to protest Tony’s admonishment, then shrugged. “More for me, I guess,” he said. He hopped up on one of the crates, kicking his heels against the side. He popped open the jar and stuck his finger in, scooping out a bit of what, honestly, looked and smelled rather like toxic goo. “Kinda eatin’ my feelings here, anyway, hoss.”

“Yeah?” Tony screwed the plate into place and reached for his level. The plates had to be aligned perfectly. “Which feelings are those?”

“I dunno, I ate them,” Clint said. “Shock, mostly, I guess. Guilt.” A blob of the cheese goop fell off his finger and onto his pants. Clint finished licking his finger, then scraped the cheese-substitute off his pants and ate that, too. Tony shuddered. He’d been known to be less than picky about his meals before, but really, that might be taking it too far. “Five second rule totally counts here.”

“I’m kind of amazed you’re still alive,” Tony said. Maybe Clint was secretly an enhancile, after all. “Because of that Coulson guy? What’s the story there, anyway?”

“Long story,” Clint said. He was still rubbing diligently at his stained denims, but really, it was only spreading the stain out. “Uh, there’s a reason why I ain’t enhanced, like the rest of you. An’ Coulson’s all kinda tied up in that story.” He gave up on the stain and dug around through the open crate again, taking out a bag of crisped potatoes and using them as a conveyance tool to get the cheese into his mouth.

“Is it a tragic tale of star-crossed lovers?” Tony asked. “Because if so, I’ve probably already heard it.” He made a minute adjustment to the resonance plate and double-checked the level. Perfect. He picked up the soldering iron again.

“More like dumb deaf kid dares to try to escape his life,” Clint said. “It’s boring. Stupid.”

Tony glanced over at Clint. “I have many insults in my pocket for you, but stupid isn’t on the list. Who’s deaf? You? If you have hearing aids, I’m impressed, because they’re so tiny I can’t see them.”

“I… yeah, born deaf. No eardrums,” Clint said. “Defective. My mom taught me to talk by putting my fingers on her throat, to feel the vibrations. S’why I’m such a good shot; feel the vibrations in my bowstring.” Clint shoved more chips into his mouth and opened a can of what smelled like burned coffee and looked like road tar, to wash it down. “My brother an’ me --” He did not finish chewing to talk. “--were raised on the idea of becoming enhanced. An’ this was even after that was a life-sentence. That’s how poor we were. Bein’ someone’s pet guard dog was a step up, and a big step, at that. Barney was 14, I was eight when we volunteered at Stark Industries.”

Tony blinked and looked up. “You were with SI? That’s why you were so mad when you found out who I was. But you’re not enhanced.”

Clint kicked the crate a few times. “No, I ain’t. They wouldn’t take me. Not a good match, they said. Birth defects aren’t corrected by the serum. What good is a deaf soldier to anyone? Took Barney, though. Our mom was already dead by that point, an’ Dad was spending all the money we had on booze and blow and women. Whored me out to the circus for a while. Learned to shoot, there. Come see Hawkeye, the galaxy’s best archer.” Clint grimaced. “Little extra coin, you can see some more of him.”

Tony had never been to a circus. There were always stories, though, especially about the lower-end, skeezy troupes. Tony hadn’t heard about those until after he’d been unwillingly enhanced and was on the run. He was suddenly glad that he hadn’t followed through on the occasional thought to hire out to one of them.

“Eventually, I got tired of that,” Clint said, looking off into the distance and Tony didn’t really want to know what he saw there. “Took up work as a part time criminal. Small stuff, pirate ship. Ended up running into this guy.” He took a swig of his road tar. “Philip J. Coulson.”

“Was he already with SHIELD, then?”

“He was. Not enhanced either. SHIELD’s pretty equal opportunity that way. He was an agent, sent out with a team to bust up the smuggling ring I was part of. He… he saw something in me, something that was a little more than an angry deaf kid who could read lips at a hundred feet. Went to the judge, balls to the wall for me, honestly. Argued until he was blue in the face, got me remanded to his custody, ‘cause I was still not legally an adult.”

Clint lifted his hair, showing Tony two pale purple lights behind his ear, almost pinpricks. “Backed me for these, too -- cochlear implants. Held me when I cried, hearing things for the first time. Got me trained. An education. I didn’t know how to read or do math or anything. Knew how to fight, and shoot, and fuck, and that was all. But Coulson, he just wouldn’t give up, even when I failed and I failed and I screwed up, and I _kept screwing up_.”

“Sounds like a good guy,” Tony said. He couldn’t imagine it, any of it. He’d grown up with math as his nursery rhymes, and a foreboding sense that no failure was to be tolerated, ever.

“The best,” Clint said. “So, finally, I make it through all the damn tests, you know. I kept trying. I wanted him to be proud of me. I had… something there. Family, you know. Strike Team family. Coulson’s team. We were good. The elite. And then… well, then Stark Expo happened. You were there, I heard tell. When Justin Hammer got up in your business? Shield was deployed, to try to keep civilian casualties to a minimum. Evacuate the area, that was our mission.”

Tony winced. The Expo had been a disaster, and the only good thing to come out of it was that Justin Hammer was behind bars, now.

“So, my team got in, found some injured kids, and we were getting them out. One of those legion drones had exploded near them, they were all cut up and practically wearing shrapnel. Some walking crotch-ache of an SI security motherfreller decided that the parts and bits of robot were Stark Industry intellectual property -- stuck into _kids_ , man -- and tried to keep us from evacing them to a hospital.”

“No wonder you hate me,” Tony breathed. “Frelling _void_.”

“Coulson and me, we laid down cover fire to evac the team. More than half of them didn’t make it, but we got most of the kids out. I don’t regret what we did. Coulson took a bullet in the chest just as the flitter took off. We surrendered.” Clint swallowed hard. “They executed Coulson in front of me, so I fought back, then. Guy had me dead-to-rights, and he took his helmet off. It was Barney. He… uh. Under orders from SI-Sec, my own damn brother shot me in the stomach and left me on the field.”

Tony forgot about his upgrade and turned to look at Clint straight on. “I guess I’m lucky you haven’t shot me yet.” He watched Clint dig another glob of orange goop out of the jar with a chip. “I don’t know who issued those orders, but... that’s not what’s supposed to happen.”

Clint chuckled, a little bitterly. “You know, it’s because of your husband that I’m still alive, in a ‘round about sort of way. Steve and the rest of the Avenger’s crew, which was just Nat and Bruce and our old mechanic, Hank -- he left to get married before we brought you on -- were at the Expo. Because Bucky had liked those sorts of things. And Steve was feeling nostalgic. Nat found me bleeding in a ditch and brought me to Bruce. Coulson was dead. I checked. She checked. The man was dead. I left him there, because _he was dead_.”

Tony spread his hands. “I don’t know what to tell you about that,” he said. “SI’s serum can cure a lot of things, but dead isn’t one of them.” He considered. “You don’t think we’re after an LMD, do you?”

“I almost hope so. Aw, cheese, no.” He peered into the bottom of the mostly empty container. “I hate to think-- that I left him behind. He was the first person who gave a good gorram about me, and leavin’ him for dead in the mud? That doesn’t sit well with me, at all.”

“Nat checked. You said. She wouldn’t have lied. I mean, she might have, if she’d had a reason for it, but she doesn’t lie to spare people’s feelings. So he was dead. And you had a gut-wound, which means _you_ were dying, without medical attention. If this Coulson guy really thought as highly of you as all that, he’d probably have wanted you to keep living instead of dying next to him in the street.”

“Yeah,” Clint agreed. “She’d have said that he wasn’t going to live, or that she could only carry one of us, or whatever. But Nat… she’s like that. I… uh. I don’t hate you. Wasn’t your fault. Probably some mid-level captain panicking about PR with some pencil pushing desk jockey riding his ass about it that gave the order. The Expo was a drendump, but that wasn’t your fault. That was Hammer Industry.” He gave Tony a smile. It was wavering and tired, but it was still there. “Just. When Steve said who you were, it all came back, you know. Stark Expo… the young futurist, head of Stark Industries, bringing the best and brightest together. Just also happened to get the Barton brothers. Your bad luck, sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed. He wondered about the brother -- SI’s enhancement serum didn’t affect brainwaves, didn’t change base personalities. Which meant Barney was the kind of person who could shoot his own brother. Tony made a note to have Pepper review the enhancile enlistment psych profiling. Still, the whole mess had happened, in part, because Tony had let Obie talk him into the Expo in the first place, and then he’d been arrogant enough to give Justin Hammer a presentation slot, so certain that he could show Hammer up.

“Sometimes I like to pretend that Barney didn’t recognize me,” Clint said. “That’s easier. Hating you, hating Hammer. That was easier than believing that Barney looked me right in the face and chose to shoot me. But I know that’s a lie. He knew who I was. He never had a good sabaac face.”

“It sucks dren,” Tony said. “The whole thing. Glad you wound up here, though.” He shook off the melancholy Clint’s story had caused, and picked up his soldering iron again. “Even if you’re cluttering up my engine room with your junk food that barely passes as edible.”

“Well, then,” Clint said, hopping off the crate and tossing the plastic jar at Tony’s recycler. He hit the door exactly right and the container disappeared, of course. “You can’t have any. Tell Bucky you lost a bet, or something, when he gripes about it.” Clint hesitated, then ruffled Tony’s hair. “It’s okay, Stark. Practically ancient history now. We’re good. Just… hope Coulson understands.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sabaac -- card game in Star Wars, the expanded universe, where Han won the Falcon from Lando.


	6. Chapter 6

Brooklyn hadn’t changed at all. And at the same time, it had changed completely.

It was still cold. Clint had used Pepper’s grey-market landing packet -- not passcodes so much as a twitchy little exploit in the planetary defense shield that let them slip through unnoticed. Following Nat’s piloting directions, they’d put down somewhat north of the Hudson River basin. Brooklyn city -- Brooklynites not being particularly original with their names -- was at the far end of the river, so it was a bit of a haul.

They unearthed the lorry from under all of Clint’s suboptimal foodcrates, but even with that, it would take most of a day’s travel, if they intended to go into the city at all.

There were, according to the map, a few smaller villages along the river, especially where the river water was clean. The hydroprocessing plant had a small town surrounding it, leastways. Bucky had taken work there one year, when he was still a teenager, and despite being out in the country with its so-called fresh air, it stank, it was hot in the summer and freezing in the winter, and no more pleasant than the city, with less entertainment. And Steve hadn’t been able to come that year, like they’d meant to, stuck in the city with pneumonia again.

Tony was fiddling with the ship’s security, a device he called a Parking Permit, that shifted and bent light, a hazmot utilization of the ship’s engines, which mostly made the _Avenger_ invisible.

A body could still walk into it, and if a branch or snow fell at the wrong moment, someone might notice there was something there. But it’d probably keep casual passersby from seeing it. Tony was shivering, because, much as Bucky loved him, the man was an idiot sometimes. Bucky grabbed a thick parka from the ship’s stores and marched down the gangplank, determined to wrap his husband up before the man lost fingers or something.

“Hey, sugar,” he said. “You forget something?”

Tony reached out for the parka with grabby hands. “I don’t think it even _gets_ this cold in Malibu,” he complained. “When Nat said ‘cold’, this is not what I was expecting.”

Bucky chuckled, looking around. “Oh, honey, this is _spring_ ,” he said, pointing to some of the nearby greenery, where little leaf buds were curled up in protest of the temperatures. It might be spring, but they weren’t happy about it, yet. “You should try mid-winter, when the River’s froze solid. Strange as it seems, it’s hotter’n engine plasma in the summer, though.”

He didn’t tell Tony about his parents, and how poor they’d been, without enough heat packs to make it through the whole winter, and how Bucky’d sometimes stolen them anyway to pass along to Steve, who was in even worse straits. Rationing had been strict during the second Hydra War. He kinda hoped things were better for Brooklynites these days.

“Hard pass,” Tony said, shrugging into the coat and wrapping it close around him. “Come on, let’s get into the lorry so we can run the heat.”

“Roger that,” Bucky said. Nat was already hiding in the back seat, wearing a ridiculous white coat and a tall furry white hat. She held out a flask when they climbed in. “I hate being cold,” Bucky said, taking the flask from her and sniffing at it. Bathtub vodka. He took a few swallows, wincing at the oily aftertaste. “There’s a limit t’ the amount of clothing you can pile on an’ still be functional.” He didn’t say that Nat’s hat had passed that limit, but by the way her eyes narrowed dangerously, he was pretty sure she’d inferred it.

Steve piled into the front passenger seat. “Aw, this is great!” he enthused. “It’s great to be back!”

Bucky stared, incredulously, at his best friend. Then his neck swiveled to stare at Nat. “You need to control your man.”

Clint buckled in, waited for Bruce to climb into the back, and then started the engine. “I’m just driving, I have no opinions here. Everything is fine and nothing hurts.” He shifted the lorry into gear and they trundled down the lack of anything resembling a gorram road. “I see we’re going for the wilderness trappers look. Should we stop and bag the local equivalent of rabbits for a bit, to add to the disguise?”

“I ain’t skinning coneys again, not ever again in this lifetime,” Bucky declared. “Or the next five.”

“How about some camping songs to pass the time?” Bruce suggested, smirking. He tried and failed to dodge Tony’s smack to the arm, but it didn’t really matter, because the parka foiled most of Tony’s momentum.

Bucky put one arm around Tony’s shoulders, and then Nat laid down stretched out across their legs, staring up at the roof of the lorry. She took another sip of her terrible vodka and started singing. She had a fair, fine voice, and she sang songs about winter and despair in the beautiful, harsh language of Russia, a planet off the far end of the galaxy where the planet circled its solar body only once every four thousand days and the winters were harsh. Bucky listened to the rise and fall of her voice and tried not to translate the songs in his head.

“How did I never know you could sing?” Tony asked when she stopped for another sip of vodka. “That was beautiful. Depressing as hell, even though I don’t know what any of it meant, but beautiful.”

“It is a song about a young woman, who loved a man, and they were to be married, but he went out to get a ring for their nuptials and froze to death in the snow. The next spring, she threw herself off the bridge and into the river,” Nat said. “A very Russian story.”

“Moral of the story,” Clint said, “no ring.”

Bucky plucked Tony’s hand up and kissed the silvery ring on his hand. “Eh, they’ve got their charms,” he said. “Oh, void, Steve--” He stared out the window. “What th’ _frell_ is that?”

Steve glanced at Bucky, then followed his gaze out the window. “It’s a statue, Buck. What, you’ve never seen...” He trailed off as they trundled a little further along and the statue’s face became visible. It was Steve, bigger than life-sized, dressed as he had been during the War, caught mid-charge against some enemy best left to the imagination. “Oh, dren.”

Tony started laughing and couldn’t seem to stop, half-collapsed against Bucky’s side.

Bruce couldn’t tear his eyes away. “This is what going mad feels like,” he mumbled.

“Stop, stop, _stop_ ,” Bucky said, and he was practically out of the lorry before the treads stopped churning, heedless of the snow that got up the cuffs of his denims as he broke a trail to the statue.

Steve-the-Statue was very stern, austere, but there was no mistaking that chin. The sculptor could have practically set a planet on it, thrust out stubborn as it was.

He pulled his hand inside his jacket sleeve and wiped the fresh-fallen snow off the placard. And stuttered to a halt, heart beating with sudden fear inside his chest. The monument’s placement was deliberate, recalling an incident in Steve’s early teen years. And Bucky’s own face, young, his hair cut short and curling on the top, was done in bronze, bas-relief.

_James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes 4017 - 4044, the only Howling Commando to give his life during the second Hydra War._

He didn’t even hear Tony coming up behind him, not until Tony’s arm was around him and Tony was next to him, looking at the monument as well. “You’re a hero,” he said after a long moment, and there was none of the hilarity in his tone that had made him cackle at the statue.

“I didn’t know,” Bucky said. “That anyone would remember me, not at all.”

He had a sudden wonder -- his parents, his sisters, they’d all be long dead, but had they been sent one of those blue pinbeam telegraphs? A small deposit of his backpay and service contract in their accounts? He brushed his fingers over the cold bronze.

“No matter where I move, the eyes seem to follow me,” Clint was saying, rocking back and forth in a greatly exaggerated manner.

Tony took Bucky’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “You okay?”

“I… uh… don’t know,” Bucky managed. “Our… um. Unexpected celebrity might make this undercover mission a little harder.” There was no mistaking it, the artist had done an excellent job, he’d know Steve’s face anywhere, and so would anyone else who grew up near this monstrosity.

He couldn’t help running his fingers over the plaque again. Remembered the mission that had gone so, so wrong. He’d fallen, the magtrain was headed over a trestle. So far to fall, and it seemed like he’d had Steve’s face with him the entire time until he hit the ground, snow and ice and pain. He hadn’t felt like a hero. None of them had; they joked around it sometimes. A hero was some gorram fool who got other people killed.

Bucky put his hand out blindly and Nat was there, and she put the flask in it without question.

“Hey, look, Buck,” Steve said, brushing off another part of the statue’s base. “It’s Dum-Dum, and Dernier, and Jim Morita… oh. Oh, and Peggy, too. Look at this…”

Bucky wasn’t sure he wanted to look; the faces of the Commandos were behind his eyelids anyway, without seeing the artist’s renditions.

He went anyway, not wanting to explain it, his hand still clenching Tony’s like a lifeline.

And at the very end of the long memorial -- Howard Stark.

Bucky choked on air.

Tony squeezed his hand, though his eyes were fixed on that likeness. “He was from Manhattan,” Tony said softly, as if Bucky didn’t know. “That’s why we have such a big facility there. It was the original SI headquarters building, before Dad moved to Malibu.” He chuckled a little, without humor. “The statues there are probably of him.”

“It's my estimation that every man ever got a statue made of him was one kind of sommbitch or another,” someone said. Not a part of their group, the Brooklyn accent thick and heavy, uncut by decades in space or half a lifetime in servitude, slavery. Pure drawl.

“You’re probably right,” Tony said easily, straightening up and turning, pulling Bucky around with him, and loosening his grip, just a little. “What brings you fine folk out here on such a lovely day?”

They weren’t enhanced, Bucky thought. A whole crowd of them, men and women alike, a few kids that were closer to school days than working folk. Men with red, chapped faces and dirt under their nails, women with the dull hair and eyes of laborers, for whom soap was a luxury, that washed their hands in the sand. Who hauled water from the river and chipped ice in the winter. How the hell had they snuck up so close without Bucky hearing. He’d been more shaken by that statue than he thought.

“Let’s hear it for Captain America,” someone else yelled, sarcastic and bitter. Bucky winced.

“Fascist! Was it all a lie, then? Captain? Ain’t you supposed to be dead? Ain’t you both?” Several people, yelling at once. Bucky shivered, pushed away from them, which brought him closer to the statue and the memorial and the memory of faces that he thought were dead and gone, and screaming in ghost voices inside his head, almost louder than the real people right in front of him.

“We don’t want any trouble here,” Steve said. Bruce took a couple of steps back.

“Naw, of course you don’t,” a big guy said, and he had a weapon, what looked like an old bit of pipe, about as long as a stickball bat, wrapped with wire and a thick battery below the tape-handle. “You just want us to roll over, turn over the whole moon to the Enhanced, like you was real people. Like you’re owed it. You signed the papers, you got the bennies. Now you want to take everything?”

Clint reached behind him, pulled out the thick band and made a snapping gesture with his wrist, letting his bow flick into existence. “Cap, what’s the call?”

“That depends on these guys,” Steve said, and his own Brooklyn accent was coming out, thickening the words. “What’s it gonna be? You gonna let us go on our merry, or do we got trouble?”

There was a long pause, pregnant with expectation, silent in the snowfall, while everyone weighed their own mortality. The hum of the big guy’s shock baton almost drowned out the whisper-quiet hiss of a pulse pistol. Not quite. Bucky whirled into action, shoving Tony to one side, out of the line of fire temporarily, before leaping up onto the statue’s pedestal. The shield that Statue Cap carried was made from bronze, not vibranium, and it was nearly twice the size of Steve’s normal weapon of choice, but it would provide some cover.

“Steve--” Bucky winged it, like an oversized frisbee. A second shot rang out and Bucky was face-down in the snow before he even realized he’d been hit. A spray of crimson painted the snow as fire lanced through his leg.

“Bucky!” Tony was there, turning him over. “Honey, are you--”

Tony was pulled away, replaced by Bruce. “Let me do my gorram job, Tony,” Bruce said tightly. His jaw was clenched, his eyes rippling in green as he ripped open Bucky’s pants leg.

Clint’s bow sang, and then again, and Steve’s giant shield rang out as something collided with it.

Tony leaned over Bruce’s shoulder, catching Bucky’s eyes, even as the pain flared. “Stop jumping in front of me like that,” Tony scolded. “You keep getting shot!”

“Well, it wasn’t th’ _plan_ ,” Bucky protested, clenching his teeth. “Ideally, ain’t none of us gettin’ shot.”

“We’ve already passed that point in the plan, keep up,” Tony said. He sounded just a touch hysterical. He lifted his own stunner and fired into the crowd.

“Hold still,” Bruce growled, leaning hard on Bucky’s leg with one hand as he used the other to treat the pulseburn.

Bucky arched back, screamed once, short and brutal as the pressure seemed to set his entire leg on fire, but then Bruce was wrapping a compression bandage around the wound.

“Tony, get the lorry,” Steve ordered. “We’ll protect Bucky, but we can’t hold out against this for long, not without killing them, and I don’t want to do that, they’re just folk.”

“ _I’m_ just folk,” Clint complained, “and they’re not exactly taking that into consideration, Captain.”

“You got it, Cap,” Tony said, and he was off, out of Bucky’s line of sight.

Before he could sit up to watch Tony’s run to the lorry, Bruce loomed into Bucky’s sight. “It’s not clotting,” Bruce reported. “We need to get clear of this dren so I can figure this out!”

“I might know someone,” Nat said, her red hair a brilliant flicker, like blood, against the snow. She had her arm wrapped around someone’s neck, throttling him without apparent concern.

“Tony?” Bucky reached out, and there were sparkles against the blackness. He couldn’t find his husband, where was Tony? Tony was in danger.

“He’s fine,” Bruce said. “Now lay still--”

Bucky gasped for air. Everything in his lungs was bad, full of choking smoke and thick with fluid and he struggled to sit up, but someone was pushing him back, and--

Something exploded.

Bucky screamed, trying to find Tony, what the frell was going on--

Pain and blackness claimed him.


	7. Chapter 7

A distraction seemed the best plan; the angry townspeople outnumbered them, but the _Avenger_ ’s crew were better fighters. Not that it made things any better when Tony was forced to acknowledge that one of the people laying in the snow and not moving was maybe fifteen years old. He tried not to look, tried to remind himself that they were using the minimal force they could get away with.

How many people could die and still let him be considered a good man? _As few as possible, duckling._ That number was probably long past, but there was no sense in making it worse.

He grabbed jumper cables from the lorry; tore his coat and shirt open to get at the arc-reactor, and overclocked his stunner until it started to emit a piercing whine. With a heave, he threw the weapon into the crowd. Most enhanciles were immune to stunners; it might knock Clint down, but it was better than the alternative.

The stunner exploded in a burst of sound and fury, but then there was silence for a long moment. Tony yanked the jacket closed, not even bothering with his other layers, and clambered into the lorry. He threw it in gear and pulled as close as he could manage to the statue -- or what remained of it. The shield was missing and the whole thing had been upended; Steve’s face was broken in half and the misaligned eyes seemed to look accusingly up at him.

“Move,” Nat said, pushing Tony into the passenger seat. Steve was dragging Clint, who was still conscious, but wobbling like a newborn colt. Bruce lifted Bucky as carefully as he could, and the size of the bloodstain left behind in the snow was terrifying.

As the lofty lurched into motion, Tony turned in the chair to see Bucky. “What the fuck, Bruce? It’s a pulse burn, why is it bleeding like that?”

“If I knew, I’d have already stopped it,” Bruce snapped. The compression bandage was already soaked and leaking. Bruce pulled another from his kit and put it on over the first. “They must have modified the pulse somehow,” he said.

Tony let out a whine and clambered over the seat to join Bucky and Bruce in the back.

“‘F they’re fighting enhanciles,” Clint mumbled, like he had a mouth full of marbles, “they’ll be usin’ bette’-- different tech than usual.”

“Well, then we’ll just have to reverse engineer their _better_ tech,” Tony said.

Bruce was uncoiling some clear piping from his kit. “Captain, you’re O, right?”

“Huh? Yes,” Steve said, twisting around. “Is it that bad?”

“Open a vein,” Bruce told him. “Can someone get a line into the captain? Do you know how?”

“I can do it,” Nat said, “or I can drive. Not both. Tony, swap places with me, drive, about four clicks west, then turn left when we get to the crossroads.” Nat leaned into the footwell and braced the accelerator with her baton before handing over the wheel and climbing over her seat. Tony was reminded briefly of old college days where they all played innocent, putting the sober person in the front seat and acting like they’d been that way the whole time. It hadn’t worked then, but Tony was frelling gorrammed if he was going to fail now.

Steve had his sleeve up and was already squeezing his fist, while Bruce did the same for Bucky, prepping his arm for the transfusion.

Tony climbed into the driver’s seat and pulled the baton free as he put his own foot on the accelerator. “Bucky, can you hear me, baby? Hang in there!”

“Sorry,” Nat said, and then she stabbed Steve in the arm with the kit. “Your stupid enhancements… yeah, let me just. There. Got it.” She glanced away. “Your turn, Tony, coming up. Four streets down, you’ll see an ugly, piss yellow house. That’s where we’re going. Drive up, beep the horn, three short blasts, then a long one. Hopefully he’s home. Otherwise this is going to get complicated.”

“Right,” Tony said grimly, taking the turn at the fastest speed the lorry could manage. The house was visible almost immediately, the yellow glowing in the afternoon light. He pulled up and laid on the horn, just as Nat had described.

For a long moment, nothing happened, and then the exterior lights flickered, once. Twice. The garage door opened slowly, revealing what looked like a basic interior -- the sort of place that rarely housed a car, but with a few shoves and pushes, the house owner opened a ramp that went underground. He waved them forward. “What the frell is going on?”

Steve leaned out from the back, giving the man his best, most charming smile. “I’m sorry about this. We need a place to lay low.”

“Everyone on this planet is trying to kill us,” Nat added.

The man paused a long moment as if assessing them. “Not everyone. Come on in. Watch the turns, they’re not meant for this size vehicle.”

Tony grinned sharply. “Trust me.” He pulled the lorry forward into the hidden space.

“If you bring the roof down, I’m gonna expect something in the way of compensation,” the man yelled after them, then pulled down the garage door.

Under what was probably the back yard of the house were three different cars and a dummy model wearing what looked like a jetpack of some sort. The owner of the house came out through a set of doors a moment later. “So, what kinda mess you got yourself into this time, and are people shooting at you, because I gotta remind you, son, that the people shooting at you pretty much end up shooting at me.”

“Sammie,” Steve said, and he got out of the lorry, nearly ripping the IV out before he realized he was tugging on it. “It’s good to see you.”

“Shooting,” Sammie said, scowling. “Someone’s definitely shooting at you. I would really appreciate it, man, if we could sometimes meet up when you ain’t in trouble. You know. Stop by for the game, or barbeque. Hey Nat, how’s this asshole treating you these days?”

“Charming as this is,” Bruce said, lifting Bucky out of the back seat. “I need someplace to work.”

“Take good care of him,” Tony said. “I’m going to do some things with the engine here for when we leave.” And see if he could tap into the global network with Extremis, since they were obviously not going to be able to be stealthy about their mission.

“I’m a medic,” Sam said, jerking his chin. “This way, got a sterile spot. The rest of you, weapons locker in the back. Patrol, make sure you weren’t followed. Things have gone to dren and back recently, and I don’t like it so much.”

Tony watched Sam lead the others back toward his sterile workspace, and then turned back to the lorry. There was every chance that they were going to have to make a break for it when they left, and void if Tony wasn’t going to give them every advantage he possibly could.

He started with the engine, flushing the fluid lines so they’d run at peak efficiency, and then made sure each component was clean and properly greased and calibrated. Then he checked the tires, setting each to a pressure that would let them hug the ground without bogging things down. The lorry didn’t have any onboard defenses, but he dug into the navigational computer and set it to report their location to the navisats as a few clicks to the west, in case anyone thought to trace them that way.

When he’d finished that, there still wasn’t any word about Bucky’s state. He didn’t trust himself to zone out and dive into the computers without some kind of status, so he went back into the engine, double and triple checking everything.

Tony was filthy, covered in oil and grease and dirt. His fingernails were all broken down to the quick and what was left of them were black crescents. Tony wasn’t sure what time it was, how long they’d been there. He only knew that it had been long enough that Bucky hadn’t bled out shortly after they arrived, and too long for Bruce to have stitched him up with no complications. It was somewhere in that dark period between despair and hope.

“Tony,” Bruce said, coming into Sam’s garage and leaning against the wall.

Tony jerked up, leaning hard on the lorry’s frame for support. If it was the worst...

“He’s awake,” Bruce told him. “And asking for you. But give me a moment of your time, because I want to tell you this.” He put one hand on Tony’s chest, gently. Kindly. “You were right. If… if it wasn’t for the Extremis in his blood, that probably would have killed him. It took longer to heal than normal, because he hasn’t finished the full conversion yet. But what they’re making -- it deactivates the Rebirth. Like… a very specific sort of EMP, designed to put Rebirth into hibernation. After I figured out what happened, we got them woke back up again and they’re doing their thing, putting humpty dumpty back together again. I thought you should know.”

Tony swallowed hard. If he’d lost Bucky... He snatched up a rag and wiped his hands, probably just smearing the dirt around more than actually cleaning it up. He clasped Bruce’s shoulder in wordless thanks, then pushed past, looking for Bucky.

Steve was sitting on the floor with his head tucked between his knees and Nat was patting him with a curiously indulgent expression on her face. “He was fine, until we pulled the IV out, now he’s gonna faint?”

Bucky was reclined on a narrow cot, mechanical arm over his eyes, shirtless and damp with sweat. A handful of orange glittery sparkles danced under his skin, swirling near his heart before following an orderly path down toward his legs. “Tony,” he said, as soon as Tony was through the doorway, without ever looking up.

“Honey.” Tony knelt next to the cot, brushing Bucky’s hair back from his face. “Oh, frell, baby, you scared me, there.”

“Wasn’t th’ plan,” he said, voice a little rough. “Miscalculated. I don’t even think he was tryin’ to hit me. He was aimin’ at Steve and pulled high on the recoil. My mistake. Sorry.”

“Well, then you saved Steve. Bruce says that stuff turns off Rebirth serum.” Tony couldn’t seem to stop touching Bucky, his hair, his arm, his side, whatever he could reach without disturbing the bandages on his leg. Tony brushed a hand down the sparkling orange of Extremis under Bucky’s skin, over and over.

“‘Splains why I feel like I been run over by a pissed off bilgesnipe,” Bucky said. “It’s okay, baby, I’m okay.” He reached out and took Tony’s hand, kissing the inside of his wrist lightly. “I’m okay.”

“Not yet, but you will be.” Tony leaned over to kiss Bucky’s mouth, firm and certain, then rested his forehead against Bucky’s. “Thank the void.” He rolled his head to look over at Steve and Nat, against the wall. “Thank you, too.”

“End of the line,” Steve said, then added, “where they really ought to have something to eat.”

Nat’s friend, Sam, stuck his head in the door at that. “I… uh, made breakfast. You know, if y’all eat that sort of thing.”

“Is it morning?” Tony wondered. “Yeah, food. Bucky is going to need a _ton_ of food, to keep his Extremis fueled. And I should have something to eat, too, before I go computer-surfing.”

“Feeding people, it’s a thing I can do,” Sam said. “I’ll bring you two in a tray, as homeboy here probably shouldn’t be walking around just yet. The rest of you, serve yourselves. And after breakfast, my favorite thing: _explanations_.” He nodded his head sharply.

***

Bucky raised a fork, sausage speared disdainfully on the tines. “Welcome t’ Brooklyn, dollface,” he told his husband. “Freakin’ coney sausages. It could be a million years later an’ I never wanted to eat one of these again.”

Despite that, he ate it. He’d eaten worse. He sopped up the remains of his pancake syrup -- some sort of sugary oil that was almost exactly nothing like the maple syrup that Howard Stark had introduced him to, once the Howling Commandos was a functional fighting force -- with the badly spiced meat and reminded himself that calories and fat and protein and vitamins were the reason a body ate in the first place and taste was only an afterthought.

His mouth was not convinced.

But he chewed it anyway.

“It’s not so bad,” Tony said. He was eating steadily, not paying much attention to whatever was on his plate, fueling up for a tech trance. “Not if I compare it to the stuff the Ten Rings fed me, anyway.” He rolled his last sausage in a leftover pancake and swiped it through his syrup. “And beggars can’t be choosers.” He gave Bucky a thin smile. “You need it to heal,” he said, an unnecessary reminder.

“It’s terrible,” Bucky said. “It tastes like Sunday morning dress-up-for-church and despair.” The Barnes family had been damn poor, and sometimes he and Becca had snuck off during the week to set a half dozen or so illegal snares in the woods. Which was both out of bounds and dangerous -- coneys weren’t the only thing to be found. But breaking the law was easier than watching the baby starve to death. And sometimes Bucky could sell the furs for medicines and heat chits.

He was about to wax poetical some more about the memories that came flooding back with each bite when Steve came in. He was carrying another tray, this time just singed bread (someday, Bucky needed to teach the entire population of Brooklyn about toast. And butter.) and a portable tucked under the other arm.

“How ya’ feeling, Buck?” Steve asked. He handed off the tray and dropped the portable onto the foot of Bucky’s cot.

“I’m in pain,” Bucky said, brandishing the sausage at Steve. “I think this is what pain feels like.”

The way Steve laughed, Bucky was pretty sure that Steve knew he meant the sausage and not his actual state of being.

Tony pushed away his own plate and made grabby hands for the portable. “Let’s get this over with,” he said. “Should’ve hijacked a comms satellite while we were in orbit, and then we’d never have gotten into this mess.”

“Someone detects you messing with the satellite network, we get shot out of the sky by earth to near-space bombardment? Same same,” Steve said.

“It’s astonishing how much money th’ governor can find in the budget to man those rail guns and none for helping people have food an’ shelter,” Bucky said.

Steve clapped him on the knee, which really, not necessary. Bucky grunted around a mouthful of sausage and pain. “Might be a good time for planetary reform,” Steve agreed.

“You want to kick off a revolution, but you’re fussing about me messing with one satellite?” Tony thumbed on the portable and settled himself deeper into his chair. “Hello, darling. Let’s dance a little, shall we?” His hands cradled the device and his eyes glowed orange as the nanites in his system obeyed his command to establish a resonance connection. A scrawl of glowing Extremis seeped to the surface of his skin, pulsing in slow unison, like a sleeping system.

Only a short moment later, he said, “Well, that wasn’t hard to find. How much deeper can I-- Really? That’s barely adequate protection.” He tsked, and one of his hands waved as if brushing cobwebs from the air in front of him. “Two SHIELD agents, right here in the files of criminals and insurgents. Agent Johnson’s file is marked _recruited_.”

Bucky exchanged a worried look with Steve; although to be fair, Steve was more looking at Tony like Tony was the thing to be worried about. Bucky had to admit, Extremis, the way Tony utilized it, was a little disturbing at first, but Bucky had gotten used to it. Steve, on the other hand, had managed to be on the front line of fighting the few times they’d had to fall back on Tony’s unique talents, and so he’d missed the occasions when Bucky’s husband resembled an All Saint’s Eve porch lantern.

“Agent Coulson’s file is listed as _undergoing calibration_ , whatever that means. I can dig deeper into these files, but I don’t know if I can do it without leaving fingerprints behind.”

Bucky choked, coughed and ended up spitting his half-chewed sausage back onto his plate. “Frell me dead,” he said. “ _Calibration_? Where? Can we get to him?”

“I’ll see what I can dig up,” Tony said without looking at him directly. “Why? What’s it mean?”

A rush of images, memories. Electric pain that juddered up from his wrists and down from his temples, the thick taste of rubber in his mouth that kept him from breaking his own teeth as they jabbed needles into his spine, creating agony that never even left a scar. Forced into rooms with electrified floors, forced to stand for days, sleepless, or risk severe burns and the fact that he could never manage it.

He was gagging, trying to breathe.

“Buck?”

“We can’t wipe him again,” he said, echoing Rumlow, “not this soon out of cryo. Give him another twenty minutes, and try again. Set those damn codes. Pierce’ll have your ass on a platter.”

Tony frowned, eyes still glowing sightlessly. “We can... I’ve got coordinates and blueprints for the facility where they’re holding him.” His hands tapped at the portable like he was soothing a small animal. “Won’t be easy.”

“Buck!”

Someone was touching him. Bucky didn’t struggle, it never did any good to fight it. Fighting cost him valuable energy that he needed just to survive. He never knew why he couldn’t just let go. Let go and let the pain take him away. To some dark place where he’d never have to feel anything, but he kept holding on, holding on to that light inside him. No matter the cost.

“Bucky, come on, pal,” Steve said. “Come back.”

_Who the hell is Bucky?_

He blinked a few times, and then, swallowed it all down. It tasted like vomit and coney sausage. “We have t’ get that man out of there,” he said, back in the present, safe and only in moderate amounts of pain. “They’re _calibrating_ him. They… he’s Soldier material. They’re… they’re coding him.”

Tony looked over, the glow fading from his eyes and skin. “Then I’m betting it’s too late for the other one,” he said softly. “It won’t be easy, but... I’ve got everything we need. Blueprints, shift codes, guard schedules. We can get him.”

“Nothing worthwhile is ever easy,” Steve said. “But I don’t like the thought of leaving one of ours in the hands of those--” Steve trailed off, like he couldn’t think of a word bad enough.

“Monsters,” Bucky filled in. “We don’t leave anyone behind for the monsters.” He prodded lightly at his injured leg, which still hurt. He huffed out a sigh and ate another damn sausage.


	8. Chapter 8

“Well, this is a gorram sight better than usin’ an old shoebox and some twigs an’ a coffee can to represent a situational map,” Bucky commented, poking one metal finger through Tony’s projected light-stream model. The solid-light building model resisted his prodding for a few seconds before it bent; it wasn’t meant to be a long term structure, but Tony rolled his eyes a little and then mentally rebuilt it.

Steve grabbed Clint’s supply bag away from him. “No grenades,” he said. “We’re gonna be underground. I’ve already spent decades in a sleep pod. I don’t need to add being buried alive to my lists of trauma.”

“Aw, bag, no,” Clint whined, but shut up and looked over to Tony for direction when Steve just hung the bag up on a peg. Clint talked big, but he usually let someone else do the strategizing; a thin disguise over what was actually a clever and quick mind.

“Stop playing with the toys,” Nat told Bucky, pertly. “You’re not the one going in and the rest of us need to look at it.”

“That’s th’ part of the plan I ain’t so keen on,” Bucky said. He was standing, leaning most of his weight on his uninjured leg, but the thrust of his jaw and the way his arms crossed over his chest were clues that his husband was about to get stubborn. “I think it would be safer if Tony stayed in the lorry, with me.”

“Honey, we’ve been over this,” Tony said patiently. “They’ll need me to open the doors and fool the security systems.”

“You can do that from the lorry,” Bucky pointed out. “Nat can handle actual lock picking, if there are physical locks that actually need to be tumbled. If you’re in there an’ something happens to you, how the frell are they s’posed to get out, then?”

Bruce raised one eyebrow. “Hulk smash?” he suggested, a faint, self-deprecating smile over his mouth.

“It’s much easier if I’m close enough to affect the tech directly, instead of having to bounce through several systems,” Tony countered. “Bucky, sweetheart, I know you want me to be safe, but if we’re going to rescue the Agent...” He trailed off with a helpless shrug.

Bucky reached out, touched his cheek lightly, the metal fingers cool over his skin. “Bad enough to lose you,” he said, “but losin’ you to Hydra? Over my gorram dead body.”

Steve glanced up, then shrugged. “He might be right, Tony. Maybe you should stay in the car.”

“You know you’re not supposed to leave your pets unattended in the vehicle, right, Steve?” Clint quipped and then dodged as Steve casually backhanded a slap at him.

“If this isn’t a dictatorship, I vote Tony comes with,” Nat said. “A lot of time’s gonna be lost if I have to finesse the door. We can be in and out faster, quieter, with less risk. It’s a simple matter of numbers here.”

“That’s two for and two against,” Tony observed. “Bruce, you want to break this tie so we can get on with things?” It wasn’t that Tony particularly _wanted_ to break into a Hydra-controlled facility. But he hadn’t been lying about how much faster and easier it was to influence tech if he was closer to it. And time would be of the essence, here.

Bruce swallowed, and his eyes jerked from face to face with charming dismay. It was easy, sometimes, to forget that Bruce sometimes grew an extra four feet and turned into a ball of green rage; his core personality was soft-spoken and achingly sweet. “Sorry, Barnes,” he said. “I’m going to vote with Tony coming with. But I promise, Hulk’ll get him back safely, if everything goes south. We owe him one.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Let’s stop planning for the disasters and just get Coulson and get out of here.”

“You sure this is another problem you want to punch your way out of, Rogers?” Nat said, grinning at the captain, a little smug.

“It’s still a viable option,” Steve protested, then pulled Nat in for a kiss on the forehead. “When it stops working, I’ll get a new plan.”

“Man with a plan,” Bucky grumbled.

Tony leaned in to kiss Bucky thoroughly. “I’ll stay safe, I promise. As safe as I can be, with these lunatics, anyway.”

Clint took one last, hard look at the building schematic. “This doesn’t look so bad,” he said.

“Well, it _wasn’t_ bad, until you jinxed it,” Tony sighed. “All right, let’s go steal an agent.”

***

Clint pushed away from the wall and tumbled to the other side of the corridor, ducking behind the wall. “This… uh, looks bad,” he reported over the comms. “I count twenty uglies between us and freedom.”

“Feels worse,” Nat complained, pressing her hand against her stomach. She’d mostly staunched the bleeding, but her face was too pale for comfort and she was actually letting Steve hold her up, which was an even worse sign.

Tony almost wished he hadn’t detonated his stunner in their earlier confrontation. “Nat, come here, give Steve his arm back.” He curled an arm around Natasha’s waist and helped her step back into him. “You can be my last line of defense while I finish getting the agent’s cell door open,” he promised, because he knew she wouldn’t appreciate him drawing attention to her vulnerability. Bruce was hovering behind them, waiting on the word that things had gone far enough south to require the Hulk. Tony made sure he had a good grip on Nat’s belt, and put his hand over the lock to Coulson’s cell.

Dropping into the tech trance got easier every time he did it, he could swear. The Extremis nanites seemed to be learning. He dropped into the palm reader and pinched off its angry demands, slid past it into the keypad. Triple redundancy on the locks; they must think very highly of this guy.

“Do you think we should try to negotiate?” Bruce asked.

“Sure,” Steve said. He raised his shield, spun into the corridor, and let it rip, whistling its song of death and mayhem before returning to his hand. “Twelve left,” he said, as he flattened up on the other side of the hall next to Clint.

“Where did he learn to negotiate like that?” Nat speculated. She shook free of Tony’s hold and leaned against the wall instead, her weapons whining softly as they recharged.

“I wonder,” Clint added.

Ah, finally, Tony had managed to finesse the chip reader that was the final barrier. The door slid open. “Hi, I’m Tony Stark,” he said as he spilled into the cell. “I’m here to rescue you.”

The man who looked up had the middle-of-the-road good looks of a history teacher, someone mild-mannered but stern, who expected more out of you than that. His eyes were a cloudy blue and full of horrors that Tony didn’t want to speculate on. He was strapped into an uncomfortable-looking chair with a band around his forehead that held a device against his skin. The trickle of blood running down the side of his nose gathered against his lip.

“Mr. Stark?” He blinked several times before his eyes rolled back into his head and he started shaking as the machine behind his chair whirred and powered up again, sending jolts of energy into the device on his head.

“Coulson!” Clint was yelling and Bruce was holding him back with one arm that was swelling and flexing.

“Frelling--” Tony dove for the chair, looking for a control panel he could subvert. He dropped his hands on the closest bit of obvious electronics and pushed into the chair.

He nearly threw up when he realized what the configuration of the chair was meant to do, when he saw the particular possibilities that the configurations allowed. He blocked off the flow of electricity with ruthless precision. “Oh, _void_ , oh, frell, this is... this is bad.” The sounds of fighting behind them were growing closer and closer.

He started unbuckling straps and unclamping cuffs with as much speed as he could handle, still more than slightly nauseated. The strap across Coulson’s head held in place a needle that went straight through the agent’s skull and into the brain. Tony choked down his gorge and carefully withdrew it, then tore that last strap away. “Think you can walk?”

“I’ll gorram well walk out of here,” the man said. “Mr. Stark?” He peered at Tony, blinking a few times, trying to focus.

“That’s right,” Tony said. He helped Coulson up out of the chair with a shudder. Machines weren’t evil in their own right -- but that chair served no purpose that wasn’t evil.

Something like this had been done to Bucky, too, he realized suddenly. Then he couldn’t hold down his gorge any longer. He leaned over and threw up directly onto the chair. Twice. Bucky-- _frell_ , no wonder Bucky woke up shivering in terror, some nights. No wonder Bucky had been afraid to let Tony come in here.

Tony wiped his mouth off and resolutely pulled Coulson’s arm over his shoulders. “Come on, they’ll have the way out clear by now.”

“Oh, void, Coulson, what did they do to you, boss?” Clint was there, suddenly, patting Coulson’s arm, peering into his eyes.

Every bit of strength, barely keeping the man up at all, went out of Coulson’s legs. “You’re not real,” he said, staring at Clint as all hope drained out of his expression. “You _died_. This isn’t real, it’s another trick. It’s another trick.”

“Funny, we thought _you_ were the dead one,” Tony said. He tightened his grip on Coulson. “Look, if we’re a hallucination or a trick, you might as well enjoy it while it lasts. Come on, you can argue about whether we’re real in the lorry on the way out.”

“What’s the closest exit, Tony?” Steve asked. He was retreating, one step at a time, his shield moving so quick that it was a red-white-and-blue blur, zinging out into the hall like a yoyo. “They just keep coming, where the frell were they all hiding, it’s like kicking over a gorram hornet’s nest!”

Tony consulted his mental map and nodded down the hallway. “There. Third corridor on the right has a maintenance hatch that we can use to get to street level.”

“Cap?” Coulson asked, puzzled. “Can’t be real, this is gorram trick.”

“I’m Steve Rogers, yes,” Steve said, tipping his head to one side. “Have we met?”

“I watched you sleeping,” Coulson slurred. “I mean, I was… there. While you were asleep. They… the Valkyrie. None of this is real. None of this is happening. Just let me die, let me die.”

“The frell that’s gonna happen, Coulson,” Clint said, getting one arm under Coulson’s shoulders. “Come on, sir, we’re getting you out of here.”

“You can’t be here, Cap,” Coulson said. “Hive… Hive’s here. You can’t… can’t be here.”

“Bruce, come on,” Cap yelled. “I’ll cover everyone. Go, Tony, go go go.”

Tony dashed for the maintenance hatch, twisted the lock and climbed in. It would be a tight fit for Steve, but the rest of them shouldn’t have too much of a problem. “Come on,” he told Coulson. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Coulson managed a few awkward shuffles, hands and knees, before he collapsed, laying face down in the tunnel. “Doesn’t matter. This isn’t real. Isn’t real.”

“Sir,” Clint shouted. “Get your ass moving, sir, or so help me, I will drag you by your hair, and you don’t have much left. Move it!”

Bruce poked his head in the tunnel. “ _Really_ , Tony? You want me in a small, metal tunnel?” He swallowed hard a few times and then climbed in. “Oh, this is so much worse than being shot at.”

“Cap wanted the shortest route out, I delivered,” Tony shot back. He all but bodily lifted Coulson back up. “Come on, Agent. If I get shot, my husband is going to be _really_ ticked with me.”

“You’re frelling right I will be.” Bucky was on the comms, then. The lorry’s engine growled. “Gimme coords, where you’re coming out.”

Cap was in the back of the tunnel, shield scraping unpleasantly against the walls of the maintenance tunnel, occasionally ringing out sharply as someone tried to put a bullet in it. Tony wasn’t sure why they bothered; it had to be obvious by now that the shield not only deflected most projectiles, but often sent them spinning back at their owners with extreme prejudice. Bad guys were just stupid, he supposed, which was good for them, but the noise was annoying.

Bruce was muttering, to himself, and then he practically flattened Clint to one side of the wall. “Make a hole while you have time. I need to be first,” he said, gasping for air, his voice going down several registers until it was nearly a snarl.

“So the Hulk is claustrophobic, that’s interesting,” Tony observed quietly, then pulled back to let Bruce shoulder past. “Brucie, be careful. If you Hulk out and make the tunnel bulge out like you’re some kind of giant green gopher in a metal lawn, they’ll all know where we are.”

“I can pretty much guarantee they won’t like that,” Bruce said, but he shuddered a few times and the green glower faded again to mild brown.

“Probably not,” Tony agreed. “Straight along this corridor until you come to a stairwell, and then we go up.”

“This would be a lovely time to have some _grenades_ , aye, Cap?” Clint snarled. He rolled into a squat. “Drop the shield.” He was holding one of his trick arrows at the ready. “Brace yourself!”

Steve made like a patriotic turtle, crouched under his shield and Clint let fly with the arrow. The instant it went overhead, Steve shifted, blocking the tunnel, and moving backward as quickly as he could. He grabbed Nat around the waist on his way by and practically lifted her like she was a sack of flour.

They got most of the way to the stairs before Clint’s arrow exploded into a thick wreath of flame. For just an instant they were singed on the ends, and then half the air rushed past them, sucked up by the fire’s need for fuel. The door at the top of the stairs was ripped off and Tony had just a moment to be concerned before it flipped the other way, out of the building.

Bucky stuck his head in. “Get your asses out here,” he bellowed. “There’s no time! They got reinforcements coming.”

Tony would have collapsed with relief to see Bucky, but they didn’t have time for it. “Go, go, go!” he yelled. It was wholly unnecessary; Bruce was already running for the light and Clint was close in on Tony’s back. Between them, they got Coulson out the door and into the lorry.

Tony grabbed the portable as the others piled into the vehicle and dove into the tech, seeking locks and intrusion-detection systems that he could now turn on their pursuers. He barely noticed when the lorry lurched into motion.

“Sam, get her ready,” Steve was saying, hand pressed to his ear so he could hear. “We’re coming in hot with company.”

“Aw, man, I ain’t even got the fine silver out yet, Cap,” Sam complained.

“Are you hurt?” Bucky asked. He didn’t even look at Tony, driving with enough skill and precision that Tony wondered if Bucky’s version of Extremis was giving him even finer control over vehicles. He’d already been a gorram fine pilot without it, the best. Now he drove like he and the lorry were of one mind and soul.

“Not a scratch,” Tony promised. “Nat got winged, though. We’ll need to see to that as soon as we shake the tail. And our agent is not in great shape.” He thought about Bucky having been in the same state as Coulson, shaking and unsure of reality, and nearly threw up again.

There were maybe a dozen vehicles chasing them, a few skimmers, hoverbikes. Nothing armed, thank the void, but they were all made for speed, whereas the lorry was made to haul cargo. It wasn’t going to be pretty when they got caught.

“Right,” Bucky said. He shifted, slammed his foot down to the floor. When the lorry was moving as fast as it could possibly go before the engine started to shake apart, Bucky uttered a wild, war cry.

“Buck, no,” Steve said, suddenly.

“Bucky, yes,” Bucky responded. He upshifted again and the engine screamed.

“I hate you,” Steve had time to say before Tony realized they were headed straight for the river gorge, a seventy foot drop at least, straight into the icy river below.

“Hang onto your butts!”


	9. Chapter 9

Bucky managed to push the lorry up to speeds that were probably damaging the engine. Hell with it, they only needed to win _once_.

The pursuit vehicles were closing the gap.

Bucky whooped again, turned the wheel hard to the left, at the same time slamming the emergency brake.

The lorry spun like a top.

Everyone inside was slammed from one side of the vehicle to the other.

Bucky let go of the brake, slammed his foot down on the accelerator and sped off.

“Gimme a count, Stevie!”

The pursuit vehicles, too involved in closing the distance, hadn’t noticed the cliff. Steve started counting them off as they went over the side. A few managed to stop, were promptly plowed into by their fellows. And then the whole side of the cliff pulled away.

“We’re clear, Buck.”

Tony looked up from the portable, orange glow fading from his eyes as he craned his head, taking stock of the rest of the vehicle. “Everyone okay? How’s our passenger, there?”

“He’s alive,” Nat said, with a shrug.

“Probably wishes he wasn’t,” Bucky muttered, then bit down on it when Clint made a pained noise from the back.

Bruce shook himself all over, like a dog fresh out of water. “Allow me a moment, I’ll make an assessment.” He reached for his medical bag and then, slowly, painstakingly, introduced himself to Coulson, who still cringed against the side of the lorry. Not trusting anyone, not sure what was real.

Void, Bucky had been there.

“ _Soldat_?” Bucky asked, continued speaking in that calm, unemotional voice as Coulson responded to a handler’s tone. “Allow the medic to treat you.”

Coulson nodded, just once, and his whole body went from a rigid fear-stance to almost parade rest.

“Well, that’s not disturbing at all,” Tony mumbled. He twisted in his seat to look behind them. “We going back to Sam’s, or straight back to the ship?”

“Sam’s at the _Avenger_ ,” Steve told him. “We can’t leave him here, not in this climate.”

“What the frell, Barnes?” Clint demanaded. “What did you do to him?”

Bucky clenched his jaw; did Clint really think this wasn’t costing Bucky something, a piece of his soul, a bit of his sanity? “We can deprogram him later,” he snapped. “Right now, we need him healed, and peaceful. You do not want to contain another rogue Asset.”

“Bucky didn’t do anything,” Tony tacked on, “except use what he knows. _Hydra’s_ the ones who did this to him. Save it for them.”

Bad enough to know the other agent had been successfully recruited, to know they’d broken and remolded yet another person for their purposes. Bucky knew he’d been fortunate; there was no way they could drag all the Assets to Asgard for Loki to cure them. He knew he’d barely survived the process as it was. He flicked his gaze toward his husband; if it hadn’t been for Tony, he didn’t know that he’d have had the strength to fight it in the first place. Hopefully Coulson had something, someone, worth the agony of breaking free.

“His healing’s off the charts,” Bruce reported. “Better than Extremis.”

“Tahiti,” Coulson said, his voice scarily neutral, like someone who’d memorized lines in a bad play. “It’s a magical place.”

“Aaaand it just got creepier,” Tony said. He was back in the portable. “Nothing on the planetary database about an enhancement serum called Tahiti. Anyone else ever heard of it?”

“Soldat, report,” Bucky said. “Overview, Tahiti Project?”

Clint kicked the back of Bucky’s seat, hard enough that his chest smashed against the steering wheel, sending them swerving across the icy roads. “Knock it off, Barnes.”

“You think I want to do this?” Bucky burst out, regaining control of the vehicle. “We can’t help him if we don’t know what we’re lookin’ at. Stop tryin’ to get us all killed.”

Coulson drew himself up a little straighter, not pulling away from Bruce’s medical examination. “Tahiti project, Terrestrialized Alien Host Integrative Tissue Inserts. Proposed experimentation with regenerative properties known to non-human species labeled as Kree. The side effects proved too extreme. We had initial success with the regenerative properties of the guest-host tissue, but after the initial physical recovery, the subject began to deteriorate mentally, displaying hypergraphia, aphasia, catatonia, or just complete psychosis." Coulson licked his lips. “Report, 4027, Fury, Nicholas J. Tahiti project shelved. Enhancile subjects to be closely monitored. Two successful candidates, completely integrated and returned to active service. Coulson, Philip J. May, Melinda Q. All other test subjects placed in cryostorage, awaiting further testing.”

The lorry erupted with exclamations, protests, questions. Bucky’s jaw ached from holding his teeth together.

“ _Fury_ authorized this dren?” Clint burst out. “I will strangle him with my bare hands.”

“We’ll have some words with him, at the very least,” Tony promised. “But he’s apparently been running years on this with no real issues, so I think the real damage is whatever they did to him here on Brooklyn. Which we will have to get _off_ Brooklyn to deal with, I expect, so have some chill.”

“Who are these Kree?” Steve asked. “I never heard of them. There aren’t that many non-humans in the galaxy.”

Bucky snorted. “Gonna drag your stubborn ass t’ Knowhere someday an’ let you feel like a minority, Stevie. There’s _dozens_ of alien races, jus’, most of ‘em think we’re stupid. Like, talking monkeys.”

“Knowhere’s full of gangsters and bullies,” Steve said, scowling.

“That it is,” Bucky agreed. “Also, aliens.”

“So many aliens,” Tony concurred. “But I’ve never heard of Kree, either.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Bucky said. “Tony, check satellites, can you? Are we bein’ followed, or can I go straight in? Also, I need an event report for nearspace.”

“On it,” Tony said. His eyes glowed orange as he dropped into the tech trance, but they darted around like he was watching some kind of complicated dance.

“He’s out captaining you,” Nat pointed out, nudging Steve in the ribs.

“Hey, I’m only the captain in the air,” Steve said. “Bucky’s always been field tactical.”

“We’ve shaken ground pursuit unless they’ve got stealth tech I can’t find,” Tony reported. “Nearspace shows four ships, small, recently out of FTL and on approach. The first will reach planetary orbit in approximately twelve minutes. They’re spaced _suspiciously_ evenly; I’d give it at least 87.4% odds they have the same origin point, or at least the-- Five ships, just got a fresh signature bloom. Five ships between eleven and twenty minutes out.”

“Great,” Bucky said, dripping sarcasm. “Dogfighting in low-planetary orbit. My favorite thing, especially when we don’t have fighters.”

Steve huffed. “I’m a captain, not an admiral. You want fighters, get us a gorram fleet. Doin’ the best I can here, Buck.”

“Can you reach Fury’s ‘training ships’ from here? Send for backup?” Bruce asked. He was packing his kit away.

Tony frowned, orange glowing through his skin as he pushed the limits of Extremis. “Interplanetary comms are blocked; it’ll take me a few minutes to push a signal through. If Fury’s ships are on alert and have New York cluster preprogrammed into their navsats so they don’t have to calculate the piloting paths, they can be here in... thirty-two minutes. As much as forty-five if they have to calculate the path. Give me a minute to get a signal out.”

“That’s still a solid ten minutes or so of playing dodgeball,” Nat observed. She glanced at Clint. “You up for it, or should we put Bucky in the pilot’s chair and let you go to sickbay with Coulson?”

“Clint’s the better pilot,” Bucky said, which was mostly true. Bucky was good in a smaller craft; his reflexes were fast, and in something like a shuttle or a dogship, he could run circles around larger ships. Clint, on the other hand, had a feel for a stick that went beyond training and was right up to some sort of preternatural ability. Bucky wouldn’t trust Tony’s safety to anyone less. Besides, Clint was having a rough time, he’d need the reminder that he was needed, so he wouldn’t lose himself in problems that weren’t his making. “Tony an’ I can run the gun-turrets. An’ Stevie can stand around and give the inspiring speeches.”

“I hate you,” Steve snarked.

“Coming up on th’ _Avenger_ in two. I’m gonna drive her straight in, get the ramp ready, Wilson,” Bucky said, opening a line to the ship. “I hope you’re not attached to anything in the cargo bay.”

“My fruity oaty bars are in the cargo bay,” Clint protested.

Bucky slammed his foot down on the accelerator again. “ _Sub-optimal_.”

On the plus side, the oaty bars cushioned the abrupt stop as he practically crashed the lorry into the bay, and the air was filled with artificial cherry scent as one crate burst open.

***

Tony piled out of the lorry before it even fully came to a halt and dashed for the engine room. He would have to be on standby there while they lifted off, and then he could run for the gun turrets. Not that they would do much good, there -- the _Avenger_ was, on paper at least, a trading ship. Its cannons were there to discourage other pirates, but probably weren’t responsive enough to protect them from five -- at _least_ five -- determined boarders.

_Shut up, Stark_ , he told himself. _One thing at a time. Step one: get off the ground._

He force-cycled the grav engine as soon as he hit the engine room; they didn’t have time for niceties like not leaving scorch marks on the landing site. He pushed the burn as high as he could take it while they were still on the ground and punched the shipcomm. “Clint, we’re hot! Take us up!”

“Roger that,” Clint said. Excitable and easily annoyed, hot tempered on the ground, Clint turned into an entirely different person as soon as he was behind the stick, running the ship on instinct alone, more than math. “Check my silhouette, Tony. That a bomber we got dropping in first?”

“Fun times,” Nat chirped over the intercom. “Stay in the engine room, Tony, I got the guns, fat lot they’ll do us against a bomber. I told you to invest in shields, Steve, you skinflint!”

“Stop spending all my credit on ice cream, we’ll talk,” Steve responded. “We’ve got this, crew. Don’t panic, everyone do their jobs. We’ve gotten out of tougher situations than this.”

“When, _exactly_?” Bruce wondered.

“Get off my comms, doc,” Steve snapped, “unless you have something useful to add.”

Tony glanced up at the nearspace radar display. “Bomber confirmed,” he reported. “And the next ship out looks like a minedropper.”

“Barnes in turret one,” Bucky reported. “Barton, bring us around, vector 12, at half, we can come in on top of this bomber and blow it to frell.”

“Better over than under a bomber, I always say,” Clint agreed. “Tony, you’re in magboots, I hope? Give me an extra five percent thruster on my mark.”

“Never leave home without ‘em,” Tony said. He grabbed onto the thrust control valve. “Ready on your mark. Nat, keep an eye out for mines from that dropper. You’re a damn good shot, see if you can keep our path clear.”

“On it,” Nat said.

“Me an’ Nat on guns,” Bucky murmured in Tony’s ear, a private line. “Bruce’s got our patient secured in sick bay. Clint’s flyin’ this tub of bolts, and you’re keepin’ it together. That lets Steve stand around and look pretty. Take a deep breath, baby. We can handle five.”

“Of course we can,” Tony said back on the same line. “I just want to make sure--” He broke for Clint’s mark and yanked on the valve, opening it past the usual tolerances. “--make sure we get credit for how awesome we are.”

“Bucky! The bomber!”

“I’m on the bomber, stay in your lane, Nat. I got it, I…”

Explosions were lovely in space, but they shook the tiny trade ship around like a marble in a bucket. Tony winced as pretty much everything in his and Bucky’s bedroom that wasn’t strapped down promptly discovered that gravity was only a suggestion out in the black.

“Oh, what fresh disaster is this?” Clint burst out. “We got leeches! Brace for a tightspin.” Clint took the ship into a nosedive, rotating like a child’s top, to keep the individual, one-man crafts from attaching to the hull and cutting their way in. The artificial gravity wasn’t cut out for that sort of maneuvering and Tony’s stomach promptly started complaining while his inner ear desperately tried to steady the horizon. “Find the mothership, Nat, we need--”

The ship echoed with a bang. “We got at least two boarders, Cap, Sam, sort ‘em out.”   

Tony dropped the thrust back to normal and slapped up a control module for the ship’s airlocks. “I see one of them just outside the crew quarters,” he reported. “No eyes on the other yet.”

“Vector six, James,” Nat yelled. “No, your _other_ six, James, look, it’s right in front of your gorram nose, now shoot her!”

Another explosion rocked the ship and then Clint was flying them in a close weave around the cruiser that had just announced itself and appeared. Armed with a pair of railguns, cruisers were the glass cannons of a fleet. A direct hit with the railgun would cripple or kill most boats, driving huge projectiles right through hullplate and letting out all the air. Coming in close was either suicide or strategy, and Tony didn’t have time to figure out which one it was.

The communications array lit up, demands for surrender, to stand down.

“Oh _frell me dead_ ,” Clint breathed. “We’re humped. Oh, void, we’re so humped.”

_HCS Steadfast_ announced itself and broke into normal space.

“I am really startin’ to hate that ship,” Bucky muttered in Tony’s ear.

“Keep it together, Avengers,” the Captain said. In the background of Steve’s feed, Tony could hear the choking sounds of Steve strangling one of the boarders, then a ringing clang as he smashed the guy into the wall, heedless of the weight of Hydra boarding armor.

Tony eyed the radar. The _Steadfast_ was going to be nearly impossible to escape. It had a tractor beam, and at least three other ships keeping space too cluttered for easy maneuvering. Clint was right; they were humped. There wasn’t enough distance between them to even make an attempt at firing up the BEHS; _Steadfast_ ’s gravity well would just draw them in that much faster.

Wait.

“Clint,” Tony said into the comm, “I need you to angle us toward the _Steadfast_ , at a--” He ran the math in his head, quick and dirty. “--twelve percent angle to that tractor beam. Bucky, Nat, you guys need to focus your fire. Make it look like we’re trying to clear a hole to run for it.”

“I thought we _were_ trying to clear a hole to make a run for it,” Nat said, but she and Bucky turned their guns, blowing up the few mines.

“Tony, what are you thinking?” Bucky sounded almost calm. Droll, really. Like terrified into some state of calmness beyond reason.

“Ever skipped stones on a lake? We’re the stone, and _Steadfast_ ’s tractor beam is the lake. If we hit the surface of it just right, it’ll bounce us away and I can hard-start the BEHS with the additional momentum it gives us.” Tony ripped a panel off the BEHS drive, yanking at the control wires that prevented the BEHS from functioning if there were other gravity wells too close by. “Clint, if you can put some lateral spin on the ship as we’re coming in, I promise to keep Bucky from complaining about your junk food for at least a month.”

“Tony,” Steve said, “you’ll flatten us like a pancake. That kind of maneuver, this close? We’ll all die.”

“Better by Tony’s hand, than whatever Hydra’s got for us, Steve,” Bucky said. “You don’t want to fall into their hands, believe me.”

“No pressure,” Tony muttered, furiously rerouting wires. “Okay, we’re all set down here!”

“Tractor’s coming online,” Clint reported.

Bucky opened up the private line. “I love you.” It was more than a declaration. Bucky was telling him everything in a few words. The most important one, that he’d never say. _Goodbye_.

Tony trusted his math, but everyone made mistakes. “I love you, too.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning on this chapter for some brief gore. Contact [27dragons](http://27dragons.tumblr.com/) or [tisfan](http://tisfan.tumblr.com) on tumblr if you need details before reading further.

The BEHS drive whumped, echoed in Tony’s chest, bringing up the taste of old pennies and stale piña coladas. They struck the brilliant green flare of light as all available matter was sucked into the Steadfast’s tractor beam, and then--

Tony wasn’t quite sure what happened.

He was crumpled on the floor in engineering, his ankles screaming in protest as the mag-boots kept him firmly anchored to the hull plating.

Someone was gasping over the comlines, voice coming in pained whimpers. He couldn’t tell who it was.

The ship was absolutely still. Nothing banged, exploded, or shook anywhere near them. A dripping sound came from his bedchambers; something had broken and was leaking onto the floor.

“Avengers, report in,” the Captain demanded.

“Medical is messy, but we’re alive,” Bruce reported. “Touch and go for a bit, we had a boarder back here, but my patient throws a scalpel with terrifying accuracy.”

“Engine room is a-okay,” Tony said. “Take me a day or so to put everything back the way the regs say it ought to be.”

“I’m reserving judgement,” Clint said, “until someone gets their ass up here and tells me what just happened.”

“You gotta stop draggin’ me on your crazy adventures, Cap,” Sam complained. “I got a dead guy here in a crapton of armor. You got an airlock, right?”

“Turret two, reporting in,” Nat said. “We’re really low on ammo, just for your information.”

“Buck?” Steve asked, after a long pause.

No answer. Tony’s heart leapt into his throat. Dear frelling void, let Bucky be okay.

“I’m on it, Cap,” Nat said, and Tony could hear her moving through the turrets -- it was so quiet that each click of her magboots against the hull shivered through the entire ship. “Cap… Cap, there’s blood here.”

Tony’s mouth went dry. He clutched at the edge of the gravdrive, knuckles going white.

“Did he reopen that leg-wound?” Bruce asked. “On my way--”

“There’s a _lot_ of blood,” Nat said.

Very faintly, the rumble of Bucky’s voice, coming through Nat’s mic. “...ot mine… g’ off me…”

Tony all but collapsed. “Bucky? What happened?”

“You are not going to believe this,” Nat said. “He can’t hear you, Tony. He’s okay. Bring me a torch and a… body bag. This is going to be nasty.”

Tony didn’t hesitate; he snatched up the welding torch from the floor where it had fallen and bolted for Turret one. Someone else would bring the body bag. “Nat? What do you mean can’t hear--”

He stumbled to a halt as the turret came into view. One of the leech armors was wedged in the turret, trapping the chair into place and Bucky with it. “What the frell.”

“...no leverage,” Bucky complained, faintly. His breath was coming in soft, short whistles. “Frelling thing is _heavy_.”

“Who told you to stab him when he was standing like that?” Nat chided him. “It’s wedged against the ladder and the targeting module, I don’t think we _can_ push it out of the way.”

“He weren’t standin’ like that when I stabbed him,” Bucky protested. “Can’t you cut the artificial grav?”

“We’re in FTL,” Clint said, having also come in, clustering in the corridor just beyond the turret. “No can do until we break out. S’pose you can sit there, for however long that’s gonna be.”

“Frell me dead,” Bucky muttered.

“We’re gonna have to cut him out,” Nat said, her nose runkling up in disgust.

“Cut a small hole,” Bruce suggested. “I’ll exsanguinate the body, before you make a mess in here.”

“You okay, honey?” Tony called.

“Mighta broke my wrist when he fell on it,” Bucky said. “Frelling combat armor is _heavy_. But I’m okay. We’re in FTL? Good. You think they can track that jump?”

Nat managed to pry Bucky’s blade out from where he’d shoved the tip through at least an inch of high density plastic into the Hydra goon’s eye. There was a very unpleasant squelching noise when she did so. She wiped the blade against her pants, cleaning the blood off. “Good kill, soldier.”

“That was all Tony and Clint,” Bucky said. “We were pulling 8 gees there, at least. Gravity is a harsh mistress. I just dropped it.”

“Glad you’re mostly okay,” Tony said, ignoring the rest of it. “I’m not entirely sure _I_ can track this jump, and I’ve got the equipment to measure our event ratio. Clint, what was the spin at, when we bounced?”

“Let’s go look at the nav-comp,” Clint suggested, face a little green as he watched Bruce set up tubing to drain the corpse before they cut the man to pieces. “I don’t… want to watch this.”

“Me, either,” Bucky pointed out.

“Sorry, babe,” Tony said. “I’m with Clint. I’ll make it up to you later, okay? Okay. Come on, Clint, let’s go check the event ratio and the spin and do some fancy math.”

***

Nat and Steve cut the Hydra armor into pieces that only dripped instead of gushed blood, but by the time they’d gotten Bucky out from under the dead guy, he was coated in all sorts of bodily fluids. Nat had managed to slide a bag down to him before he’d added his own vomit to the list. Still, being part of a dismembering outside of normal combat experiences was not a thing that Bucky had on his checklist.

He’d worried that it might be hard to dodge Tony long enough to get in the shower. A second injury in two days, and Tony would be well within his rights to be climbing the walls about Bucky’s lack of adequate caution. Not to mention the fact that his left arm was malfunctioning from the wrist down. But Tony was still on the bridge with Clint, the two of them jabbering at each other, and JARVIS chiming in.

Bucky could do piloting math; he could calculate trajectory for a ship, for planetfall, for using a sniping rifle in high winds. But Tony was a mathematical genius. Bucky didn’t expect it to take too long.

He finished a shower, dried off. Dressed. Grabbed something to eat, and then helped with the cleanup. Spaced the dead men after recovering every bit of useful hardware.

Tony and JARVIS were still at it by the time Bucky got tired of waiting. He reconned a few plates of dinner and went to park his ass on top of the navcomputer.

“Tony,” he said, putting the plate down in front of his husband -- red beans and rice, with vat-sausage. “What’s our status?”

“That,” Tony said, shoving his hand through his hair and making it all stand on end, “is an excellent question.” He kept staring at the curve JARVIS was projecting on the navcomp, not even really noticing the food. “I... don’t know.”

Bucky blinked. “What, precisely, is unknown, here? I mean, there’s a lot of things that can go wrong with an FTL jump.” Stuck in event horizon was one of the risks, combined with time dilation, they might not even know they were going to die before they did.

Tony sighed. “We’ve got a couple of different variables at play. There’s a _reason_ the BEHS is usually kicked off by the navcomp; precision FTL needs to be calculated to a hair’s breadth. But the navcomp wasn’t _going_ to kick off the drive with so many other ships close at hand, so I had to do it manually. On top of that, we had some spin going -- that was good, that means they won’t be able to track us. But it also means, combined with a less-than-utterly-precise dump into the event horizon, means I’m not sure where we’re heading, either. All we’ve really been able to sort out is how long it’s going to take us to work our way out of the event and back into normal space.”

“That, uh…” Bruce said, sticking his head in, “that doesn’t sound good, Tony. What are we looking at here?”

Tony made a face, and traced one finger along the projected curve. “Unless Clint and I are wildly wrong about this math... Anywhere from four to six months.”

“We are accounting for fluctuations in the drive from extended periods spent in the Faster Than Light space,” JARVIS added. “And it is a conservative estimate. I calculate eight months, seven days. But Mr. Stark is ever an optimist. The exact degree of spin was imprecise.”

“I was flying by the seat off my pants,” Clint protested, “not doing mathematical ballet while chewing gum.”

“I fail to see the comparison,” JARVIS said, somewhat stiffly.

“Cut him some slack, J, we were staring down the barrel of a pretty nasty gun,” Tony said absently. “I’m... trying to figure out how to pull us back to normal space sooner, but if we have to let the slingshot run its course... yeah. We’re looking at a pretty long fling.”

“No one's ever done a jump that long before,” Bucky said, nerves alight.

“That is not precisely true,” JARVIS said. “But those who have are all well past communications range. Only two hundred years ago, generation ships and colonizers attempted extra-galactic travel to get away from political climate that they disagreed with. It is unknown if they were successful.”

“No one had ever detached a shuttle mid-event and survived before, either,” Tony reminded Bucky. “But we survived that. We’re going to get through this.”

“I'm rather more concerned that we ain't gonna survive telling the Captain,” Clint said.

“Tell me what?” Steve asked. Because of course.

Tony pasted on a slightly manic grin and turned to face Steve. “That we are _definitely_ very far from Hydra’s control, now, and that they cannot trace our path, and that we, ah, might be in FTL for several months.” He said the last bit almost too quickly to understand, blurring it all together into one long word.

Steve rolled his tongue around in his mouth like he was sucking a particularly sour candy. “Right,” he said. “Right, Buck. You’re with Tony, help him pick things up and put them down. We’ve got three Hydra leech pods on our hull with accompanying access holes. Scrounge anything useful, then patch it up, get ‘em off. Bruce, I want a full report on Coulson, and an estimate on his condition, and your assessment as to how far gone he is, as far as recruitment went. Clint, you’re with Bruce, Coulson’s your friend. Sam, Nat, you’re with me. We’re going to do a complete inventory of water, supplies, oxy scrubbers. Let’s see how long we can last in here. Tony?”

“Yeah, Cap?”

“We weren’t prepared for anything like this,” Steve said, and there was a certain lack of blame in his voice that was almost painful, like he was holding on to his temper with both hands and a construction crane. “I want options on the table in twelve hours. How the frell can we break out of light speed? Is Buck’s trick with the shuttle a possibility? How long will the oxy scrubbers last? Is there any possible way to rig a cargo pod for cryo, and if yes, is there any way to get us out of it, later? Anything, no matter how far-fetched. I didn’t lead this crew into this mess to lose them like this.”

Tony straightened up, almost like he was standing at attention. “All the answers I can get for you, Cap. Some of that stuff is easier than others, I can--” He bit off whatever he was going to say and nodded. “Twelve hours, got it.”

Bucky waited until everyone else split up; he was in no hurry to assess hull damage, and Tony needed him. Tony went back to staring at the computer’s screens, still ignoring the plate of food.

“JARVIS, shut it down a minute, Tony needs to eat,” Bucky said, soft. “Hey… hey, Tony.” He put his right arm around Tony’s waist and drew him into a one-armed embrace. “This isn’t your fault.”

Tony pressed his face into the curve of Bucky’s shoulder. “I should’ve done more. Something better. Something different.”

“We were humped, baby,” Bucky said. “I’d rather be out here in the black with you, than have any of us in recruitment. Tony… Tony, you saved _all of us_.” He didn’t say that if it hadn’t worked, the best thing they could have done was vent the oxy. Everyone knew that. Some things, you just didn’t try to stand up to. “We’ll figure this out. I believe in you. If anyone can get us out of this, it’s you.” He tipped Tony’s chin up and kissed his forehead. “Now, eat something, before you get spun up.”

***

There was math for maneuvering in FTL. The problem was, most of it was highly theoretical and untested. Tony’d had to add an entire suite of modeling systems to JARVIS just to even think properly about the physics of it. If it weren’t for Bucky, Tony wouldn’t have slept at all for the last standard week; as it was, he barely managed a few hours at a time.

How could he do anything else when the crew was counting on him to fix the mess he’d gotten them all into?

He was awake again, staring at the curved bulkhead over the bed and listening to Bucky’s soft breathing beside him. Bucky would be disappointed if he got up again so soon, but what good was it doing him to lie here, math churning through his brain?

Before he could make up his mind, there was a tentative tap at the edge of their doorway, followed by a soft, “Tony? You awake?” Clint was there, a dark shadow against the pale blue light of the arc-reactor that powered the Avenger.

Tony sat up, glancing down at Bucky to make sure his husband stayed asleep. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Hang on, be right there.” He climbed carefully over Bucky -- Bucky always preferred the outer edge of the bunk, keeping Tony between him and the wall -- and pulled the blankets up so Bucky wouldn’t get cold while he was gone. “Be right back, sweetheart,” he whispered. It was probably untrue, but hopefully it would seep through Bucky’s consciousness and let Bucky sleep a little longer.

He shrugged into his coveralls and made his way around the engines, hand trailing over the contentedly-thrumming machinery, to the hatch. “What’s up?”

“Coulson came out of his… thing,” Clint reported. The man had pretty much gone catatonic, barely moving for the last several days after being forcibly removed from Hydra’s conditioning rooms. Bruce hadn’t been too worried, claiming that Coulson’s enhancements were working to repair the physical damage, and there wasn’t much they could do, out in the black, about the mental trauma aside from wait and see. “And, um… he kinda needs your help.”

“ _My_ help?” Tony said. He waved for Clint to lead the way. “What’s he got going that _I_ can help with?”

“Easier to show you,” Clint said, grabbing Tony’s portable tool kit on the way past.

When they got down a deck and to the back of the ship where Bruce’s medical lab was located, Tony blinked. Coulson wa sitting up on the med-cot, resting his forearm against an examination table. His entire arm was split open, the skin peeled back to reveal a metal bones and circuitry. He was moving the fingers for Bruce, three of which refused to do more than twitch.

“It’s psuedo-flesh over the top, layered with a carbon fiber that prevents scanners from seeing anything underneath,” Bruce marveled. “I didn’t even realize it was artificial until I tried to x-ray, to see why his fingers aren’t working.”

Coulson looked up. “Mr. Stark,” he said. He didn’t look at Clint at all, as if the Avenger’s pilot didn’t exist.

“Is this some Hydra thing, replacing limbs?” Tony wondered aloud. He dropped his kit on the table and leaned over the opened arm, eyeing the connections and servos.

“No,” Coulson said, his left hand jerking toward the prosthetic as if to cover it. “This is Shield’s work. One of my teammates had to cut the original off with an ax -- alien spit can be very caustic. We’d already lost two on that mission; the stuff melted them. Mack saved my life.”

Clint shuddered, still watching Coulson’s face, his own expression an open book; regret and remorse and guilt and hopefulness warring it out.

“Well, that sounds horrible,” Tony said. “Okay if I have a look?”

“Sure,” Coulson said.

The inner workings were oddly familiar, and it took him a while to realize where he’d seen the circuitry before. The nerve receptors were Stark-made, something he’d done back in his university days as part of a project with Rhodey for wounded vets. They’d gotten perfect scores on the project, but Howard was still alive at the time, and not interested in funding the results, and then Tony had forgotten about it, pushing the files and specs aside to work on other projects. And yet, that was clearly his interlocking handshake connections, with double redundancy.

“Huh. Okay.” Tony carefully tapped at one of the receptors. “Can you feel that?”

The finger twitched again, but Coulson shook his head. “I think the shield got jammed. There’s a hard-light projector in the wrist.” He gestured with his other hand, showing Tony the movement. “There was a fight.” His eyes shifted again, suspicious when he looked at Bruce, then back to Tony. “Where are we, Mr. Stark?”

“At the moment? We’re in FTL, aboard the _Avenger,_ ” Tony said. “Call me Tony.” He extracted a screwdriver from his kit and moved a wire bundle gently to the side. “Ahh, there’s your projector. And you’re right, it’s been damaged. Let me see what I can do about it. What do you remember?”

Coulson reached out with his flesh hand and touched Tony’s shoulder. “Have you had any encounters with the alien known as Hive?” He was staring into Tony’s eyes, like he could x-ray Tony’s brain and read the truth in his gaze. “Any of your crew?”

“Hive?” Tony shook his head. “Never heard of it. What’s it look like?”

Coulson examined Tony’s face carefully. “No dilation. You’re probably safe,” he muttered before dropping his hand. “He might have been human, once. We. _I._ I, it was my fault. Lost Daisy to him.”

“Tell us what happened,” Tony urged. He fished in his kit, one-handed, for a spool of copper wire, to tie the bundle up out of the way while he worked.

“Reports were, this new leader, Grant Ward, was making speeches, getting Rebirth enhanciles stirred up. His followers were fanatical, and they were making attacks against normal humans. It started slow. He’d give a speech and end up with ten, twenty new followers, but it didn’t take long before he was practically ruling half of Brooklyn. My partner and I were sent in to investigate. Daisy’s a… very talented computer slicer. We picked her up a few years back, out of Rising Tide.” Coulson rubbed at his thinning hair with his flesh hand, looking exhausted. “No one was talking, either. Ward’s followers treat him with the devotion that people give their gods. We decided to infiltrate the movement, try to get a look at what was going on, on the inside. Wasn’t hard; they took a sample of Daisy’s blood and mine, and took us right to him.”

“That sounds like one of those too good to be true scenarios,” Clint said.

Coulson’s eyelids fluttered slightly when Clint was talking. “It was presented exactly as it was. Grant Ward… whatever he used to be, however he looks out in public. He’s not human _now_. He looks like someone tried to graft a squid onto a person. His skin’s greyish in color and he has these…” Coulson put his hand under his chin and wiggled his fingers around obscenely. “Huge yellow eyes. They see right inside people. And. Um, he’s got some sort of. I don’t even know how to explain it. He breathes out these little… pieces of himself, like a cloud of gnats. That go into a person and then, Daisy, she just… it’s not like she’s not _Daisy_. Acts the same, knows everything that Daisy knows. She’s just Daisy who fanatically loves him, would do anything he said. It’s… terrifying.”

Tony glanced up. “Why didn’t he give you the same treatment?”

“I think it’s Tahiti,” Coulson confessed. “They took a lot of my blood, for testing, before they started the --” Coulson broke off with a bone-deep shudder. “--compliance programming. Ward came to my cell a few times, demanding to know how many of _my kind_ there are out there.”

Tony considered that, pausing in his work to mull it over. “So he can only affect certain serums?” he guessed. “What was Daisy’s batch?”

“She’s Terragenesis,” Coulson said. “That’s pretty much what everyone is. Rebirth, Phoenix, or TG. Tahiti project was shelved, and Extremis isn’t yet on the market. Mostly.”

“Well, then I’m glad we left when we did,” Tony said, glancing up at Bruce, and then at Clint. “We’ve got a mix in the crew, but it’s hard to imagine he can’t put the whammy on Rebirth enhanciles, if he’s setting up base on Brooklyn.”

“Won’t do him a lot of good, with my blood,” Coulson said. “Tahiti’s rare. Only terminal cases got it, and it… either forms a good bond, or a really, _really_ bad one. Not the first time it’s been good luck for me. Although I wouldn’t usually call it that.” He twitched a finger in response to Tony’s prodding. “Okay, getting tingles there.”

Tony nodded and kept working. “Let me know if it starts to hurt. So this Hive guy, he’s turning Brooklyn’s enhancile population into his own personal army? Any idea what he’s planning to do with it?”

“Take over the known universe,” Coulson said, a bitter laugh sliding between his lips. “They asked a lot of questions; enhancile make up of world leaders, who had access to the Extremis protocol, what planets had large enhancile populations. I don’t… I don’t know that Ward is anything more than a tool, and whoever’s holding that leash doesn’t know much about our galaxy. Some of the questions were… infantile.” Coulson shuddered again. “I… said more than I should have. A _lot more_ than I should have.”

“From what I saw when we went in to get you, you didn’t have much of a choice,” Tony said. “Hive may not have been able to flip your switch, but Hydra was doing a pretty good job of it. Which makes me wonder, why’s Hydra working with this guy? You think the whole lot of them have been turned?”

“Hydra’s shock troops are mostly Phoenix soldiers,” Clint said. “They’ve got the biggest enhancile army in the galaxy. They take over a planet and they inject half the population. Most of them die, but they end up with more soldiers and a lot of resources. They’re like a plague.”

Tony looked over at Clint. “So the question is, who’s using whom? Can Hive put the whammy on unenhanced people?”

“I don’t think so,” Coulson said. “The unenhanced Brooklyn population’s been fighting back. They’ve got some weapons that neutralize the enhancement serums for short periods of time.”

Bruce sighed. “Yeah, we had an encounter with those,” he said. “Would have been bad, if he wasn’t a hybrid.”

Tony shuddered. “Makes me wonder if we shouldn’t put Extremis in the whole crew,” he said slowly. “The last thing we need is to get caught in the middle between an alien who can control enhanciles and a population that’s ready to destroy us rather than let the alien have us.”

Clint’s attention snapped to Tony’s face, as if judging his intent. “Sign me th’ frell up,” he said. “Tired of being the glass cannon of this crew.”

“Barton,” Coulson said, acknowledging him for the first time. “Think that over. It’s not a painless process.”

Clint glowered. “So’s life, Coulson. I can handle it. I ain’t your ward anymore.”

“I know.”

Tony twisted the last loosened screw into place. “If you two need to get a room,” he said, “that can be arranged.”

Clint’s aim was the stuff of legends -- even when using a projectile that wasn’t his normal bow and arrows. Which is why Tony wasn’t worried when Clint chucked a box of nitrile gloves at his head. If Clint had wanted to hit him, he would have, and ducking wasn’t going to help anything. Coulson, on the other hand, reacted apparently without thought, pulling Tony in and made a gesture with his now-barely-functioning fingers. A hard-light shield popped up between Tony’s shoulder blades and the incoming missile. The box exploded into shreds of blue plastic that rained down in the med-lab like confetti.

“Somebody better sweep this up,” Bruce said, zenlike, even in his disapproval. “Because this… this is not in my job description.”

“So that’s working again,” Tony said, eyeing the edges of the hard-light shield. “You might want to take up yoga or something, though,” he told Coulson. “Because that really wasn’t necessary.”

“Sorry, Mr. Stark,” Coulson said. “I’m still a little jumpy.” He glanced up as if to say something to Clint, but Clint was gone.

Tony opened a stow hatch and found the broom. He handed it to Coulson. “I need to get back to trying to figure out how to keep us alive, so you get stuck on cleanup detail. And for frell’s sake, _talk_ to the man, would you?”


	11. Chapter 11

The math was calling to him, but Bucky’s persuasion was louder, a hot breath on the back of Tony’s neck, agile tongue twisting along the shell of Tony’s ear. “Can’t go to bed yet,” Tony tried to make himself say. He was so _close_ to figuring it out. It came out as more of a wordless moan, though, his body betraying his resolve. “Honey, I...”

“Need some sleep an’ some downtime,” Bucky said. He wrapped the fingers of one hand around Tony’s wrists, pulling him upright. The other hand -- the flesh one -- slipped down the front panel of Tony’s trousers, fingertips warm and teasing against Tony’s skin. “An’ I ain’t hardly touched you in three days, you’re still no closer t’ gettin’ there. It’s okay, you just need some distraction. Get your head clear, come at it another angle.” His fingers were making short work of the closure to Tony’s pants. “Hmmm?”

Oh, frell, he could never say no to Bucky, not when Bucky was being so wicked and sweet. If Steve or Clint or Nat knew he was doing anything but working to get them home again, they’d be mad as dren, but... “Yeah,” he breathed. “A distraction, yes.” He arched into the touch of Bucky’s hand as it slipped under the material of his pants. “Oh, yeah, okay, yeah...”

“Gonna strip all your clothes off an’ bite that ass of yours like it’s a peach,” Bucky growled, nuzzling at Tony’s neck. His hand kept moving, light, feathering touches followed by a few harder strokes, getting Tony relaxed, teasing him erect. “Want you in our bunk, gonna make you feel so good, honey.” He stropped himself against Tony’s ass, letting Tony feel the full length of him, even with several layers of clothes between them.

Tony didn’t know if he really _deserved_ to feel good, but he did know that voicing that doubt would only make Bucky that much more determined. He would just have to do everything in his power to make sure that Bucky felt amazing. Bucky deserved to feel good, definitely. And if what Bucky wanted was Tony, well... Tony let Bucky back him up into their little room and tip him over onto the bed. “Anything you want, sweetheart,” he promised. “Whatever you need.”

Peeling out of his shirt, Bucky tossed it on the back of one of their two chairs. “Need you,” Bucky admitted, giving Tony his best smoldering look from under those long lashes of his. He picked up Tony’s hand and deposited a kiss in Tony’s palm, then proceeded to nudge and nip and lick at Tony’s fingers, scraping his teeth over the pads, flicking his tongue against the webbing. When he got to the tender skin of Tony’s wrist, he practically made love to it, licking and stroking along Tony’s lower arm until he was shivering with the gentle, wanton touch.

“Oh, void, that’s so...” Tony curled his other hand around the back of Bucky’s neck, stroking his fingers through Bucky’s hair, dragging his blunted fingernails along Bucky’s scalp. “Honey, that feels so good, you always make me feel so, so good.” He curled up to kiss Bucky’s forehead, cheeks, begging for a real kiss, for the taste of Bucky’s mouth on his own.

“I got you, Tony,” Bucky told him, his mouth crashing down on Tony’s, parting his lips and taking a long, slow taste. He devoured Tony’s mouth, hands busy with the fastening of Tony’s shirt. He let them part a moment, just long enough to get the collar over Tony’s head and then he was back, claiming Tony’s mouth again for another heated, searing kiss. He let Tony struggle out of the arms, taking advantage of that momentary distraction to deliver kisses down Tony’s chest, until his tongue crossed over one nipple and paused to dedicate his entire, wicked attention to that one tiny patch of flesh.

Tony groaned and clutched Bucky’s head to him, arching into those heated strokes. He wrapped his leg over Bucky’s hip and used it as leverage to push up against Bucky’s body, rubbing their cocks together, though their clothes were still too much in the way for real satisfaction. “Bucky, I--”

Bucky continued to lick his way down Tony’s body, stopping to mark him just below the ribs, sucking at the tender flesh until the blood rose to the surface. He slid the fastener of Tony’s trousers open and tugged down the zipper--

“Do we have any sort of estim--” That was not Bucky’s voice at all, and, in fact, was Steve, who swept the beaded curtain out of the way and ducked into their cabin. “For void’s sake, Buck!”

Bucky made a sudden, squeaking sound and practically flattened Tony like a griddle cake, scrambling for the blankets.

“Wh--oof! Bucky!” Tony pushed at Bucky’s shoulders. It was like trying to move the entire ship. “Cap, what the dren?”

Steve coughed, his gaze lingering on the bruises around Tony’s collar before he studied the ceiling with an odd intensity. “We lost a reclamation pipe,” he said. “Can’t fix it, the micron element’s cracked. On full water rations, we’ve got enough potable water for another month. I was _hoping_ for some good news.”

Bucky had buried himself in the blankets like a human burrito and was pressing a flaming cheek to Tony’s belly as if to cool it. “The frell, Stevie, don’t you _knock_?”

Tony’s head dropped back against the pillow as he huffed out a sigh. Losing reclamation was a _big_ blow. “No news yet,” he said. “I think I’m getting close to something, though.”

“Okay, keep at it,” Steve said, then, almost tentatively, he added, “Bruce’s got the cryopods running again. If we need to. Buck and I consume the most resources.”

Bucky shuddered against Tony’s stomach. He twisted, coming up beside Tony, keeping the blanket pulled up, awkwardly. “I still got some of my old Hydra gear,” he said. “I can do some reclamation by hand. It’ll take time, but should stretch us out a bit further.”

“I’ll do my best to keep you both out of cryo,” Tony promised. He’d seen Bucky coming out of cryo before, and had no desire to repeat the experience.

“Okay,” Steve said. “Lemme know when you’ve got something, and I’ll just…” He smacked the doorframe a few times, awkwardly. “--let you get back to it.”

Bucky groaned and scrubbed at his face with one hand. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Like that’s gonna happen.”

Tony sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. “Well, _that_ was a moodkiller.”

“Back to work, I guess,” Bucky agreed, mournfully.

***

“The _frell_ , Stevie,” Bucky said, shoving at Steve’s broad shoulders with both hands, which barely made the other man stagger. “I can run circles around your ass, out in the open.” They were both sweaty, stripped to the waist, having been running around the ship in a makeshift obstacle course for the better part of two hours. Both of them were on the shivering edge of a bad case of cabin fever, their enhanced metabolisms not meant for so long without being planetside.

“Maybe you _think_ you can,” Steve shot back, because Steve. “But we don’t _have_ an open, here, this is all we’ve got. So you’ll just have to concede and admit my superiority.”

“Yeah, that ain’t happenin’” Bucky said. He leaned forward, hands on his thighs, chasing after his breath. It was a waste of resources, but they were going stir-crazy. “I used t’ haul your skinny ass outta dumpsters back on Brooklyn when you bit off more than you can chew. No way in th’ void you can take me.” He glanced up at his friend. “Two falls out of three, and my dessert rations on it?”

“Pal, you are _on_.” Steve looked around thoughtfully. “Cargo bay should have enough space.”

It didn’t take long for them to get down to cargo, and even less long for the rumor to spread of what they were up to. Nat perched on the catwalk overhead, resting her chin on the railing, watching avidly. “This space is off limits,” she announced. “For audience.”

“Lose the boots,” Bucky suggested, having taken more than a few magboots to the teeth in his time, and while the serum would, eventually, push a new set out, he didn’t like being all mush-mouthed without them for a few weeks. “But you can keep th’ shield.” He flexed his arm threateningly, letting the servos whine. “I don’t wanna put you at too much of a disadvantage.”

“Disadvantage?” Steve sputtered. “Oh, now I am totally wiping the floor with your smug face.” He unlocked his ‘boots and put them to the side, then unlimbered his shield. “Whenever you’re ready, then.”

Bucky removed his own boots, flexed his fingers, and dropped into a fighter’s crouch. “Nat, give us the count?”

Nat smirked as Clint came down and joined her on the catwalk, carrying a huge tub of reconned popped corn. Chili and lime flavored, Bucky thought, as the tangy scent of it flooded the room. Clint and his suboptimal foodstuffs; Bucky rolled his eyes. “Ready… steady… go.”

Steve didn’t hesitate. He charged forward, the shield held cautiously to block anything Bucky might consider throwing with his left arm, his fists curled and already swinging.

Always with the frontal assaults. Bucky sometimes wondered if Steve getting his ass kicked regularly back on Brooklyn had taught him entire the wrong lessons. He dropped, swept out with his leg and was back up as Steve made like a turtle, belly up. “Down, already, Rogers?” He barely got it out before Steve did a fancy kip-up and kicked him in the head.

And then the fight was on, Bucky blurring into mission mode, and Steve fighting for the sheer joy of it.

Tony came in and took a seat on Nat’s other side, reaching across her to share Clint’s terrible popcorn. “You get him, babe!”

_Void_ , Steve had strong legs. Several hard kicks to the chest had Bucky backing up defensively. He managed to catch Steve’s ankle and twisted him, mid-air, smashing him to the floor. “Oh, come on, Rogers, vary it up a bit. _Tony_ fights better than this.”

“Hey!” Tony protested from his spot on the catwalk.

“Sorry, babe,” Bucky yelled to his husband. “Love you.” He didn’t look away, watching Steve’s chest for a clue as to what direction he was going to move in, hands spread. He just needed to get Steve down and make him _stay there_.

“Mmhm,” Tony hummed, not sounding convinced. “Kick his ass, Steve!”

Steve chose that exact moment to jump, throwing his entire weight into Bucky’s arms and knocking him over. They rolled together across the floor, struggling for advantage. Steve caught Bucky’s wrist and twisted. “Yield!”

Bucky could have pulled free, at the cost of a broken wrist and probably a dislocated shoulder. If it had been life and death, he wouldn’t have hesitated.

Tony, despite his defection, would probably be upset if Bucky hurt himself without good cause. He slapped the floor with his left hand. “Yield.”

“And that’s one, one,” Nat announced. “Keep going?”

Steve let go of Bucky’s arm and got to his feet, offering Bucky a hand up. “I could do this all day.”

***

Tony looked at the mats that had been laid out and hesitated. “I’m not sure this is the best use of my time,” he hedged. “JARVIS is going to be done running the latest simulations for me in the next couple of minutes, I’m pretty sure, so I should just--”

“Get over here, Stark, and stretch,” Sam said, pointing at a mat. “You need to get your blood moving and take care of your body a little bit, or you’ll keel over before we break normal space again, and that won’t help none of us.”

Bruce was sitting, the soles of his feet together and knees bent, palms together over his heart, in front of an enormously hairy chest. He opened his eyes. “Hi Tony.”

“Hey, Bruce. Tell Sam I don’t need to do any yoga. I’m doing fine.” Tony jittered his way onto the mat Sam had pointed at, though, and tried to copy Bruce’s serene pose. It was harder than it looked.

“Flexibility is useful in many situations,” Bruce said. “Core strength, balance, and peace of mind. These are all skills that you use. May as well practice.” Bruce inhaled, pushed his hands up over his head, then spread them to the sides. “Opens the chest, clears the mind, heals the spirit. Sam’s got some blocks, for harder poses.”

“My mind and spirit are just fine,” Tony complained, “and my chest is as open as it’s going to get with this nightlight in it.” He kept copying Bruce’s movements. “I’m not weak, you know that, right?”

“Man, have you even seen how flexible this dude is?” Sam exclaimed, jerking a thumb at Bruce. “G’wan, show him the thing.”

Bruce inhaled. “Of course you’re not weak, Tony. You’re one of the toughest people I know, and given who I know, that’s saying a lot.” Bruce put his hands flat down on the mat in front of him, leaned forward. He pushed into a kneel, then arched his back until his spine made a curve and his belly was rounded toward the floor.

“Watch this, this is somethin’ else,” Sam said.

Bruce flexed his back again, then lifted his entire body, until he was standing on his hands, which was impressive enough, except then he continued to go over. He stretched his neck until he was practically resting his feet on his head. And then slowly took one hand off the floor, stretching it out to the side. He wobbled once, then steadied. “Handstand scorpion,” he told Tony. “ _Taraksvasana_ , it’s called. After a world-destroying demon, slain by the god of war. If, you know, you believe that sort of thing. I learned it back on Old Earth.”

Tony had to admit, it was impressive as hell. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, let’s do this-- Wait, you’ve been to Old Earth? Why did I not know that? What was it like? When did you go there?”

Sam laughed until he was snorting indelicately into his elbow. “Man, you need t’ practice your corpse pose. Do you ever just… stay still?”

Tony considered it, tapping at the arc reactor as he thought. “...No?”

Bruce let himself down from his pose. “Well, let’s get started with some sun salutations. We’ll get to corpse pose at the end. Maybe he’ll be tired by then.” He winked at Tony, saucy and grinning. “Feet together, hands in front of your chest, and we’ll time our breathing. In…. and out….”


	12. Chapter 12

“Hey.” Bucky ran his metal hand through Tony’s hair, ending with digging the thumbs of both hands into Tony’s shoulders, pushing out tension. “Got a present for you, doll.” Tony did not smell particularly good. Honestly, none of them did, so it was just as much a present for Bucky as Tony.

“Nnnnngh,” Tony managed intelligently, going limp under Bucky’s hands. “You _are_ a gift,” he added, somewhat more coherently.

“Turns out that Wilson ain’t half as dumb as he looks,” Bucky remarked, still working his magic down Tony’s spine. He didn’t particularly want to like Wilson -- the man annoyed him, and he spent entirely too much time _helping_ Tony while they did yoga -- but despite that, he knew quite a bit about long term survival.  “Spent most of yesterday an’ today with him, an’ guess what we did?” Bucky tapped the plastic container against Tony’s shoulder, making it slosh.

Tony spun around so fast he was probably in danger of getting dizzy. “What-- You got _water_?”

“We jury-rigged a new reclamation system,” Bucky confirmed. “Might get a bit dry, ship-board. He figured a way to condense the water out of the air. This ain’t as clean as some of th’ rest of it, but I thought you might want a sponge bath?”

Tony’s eyes got wide. “Oh, god, a bath with _water_? You sure know the way to a man’s heart, don’t you?”

“Ain’t much,” Bucky admitted. “Little less’n a liter, but if we’re careful, we can both wipe down. Or --” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively “--I can wipe _you_ down.”

Tony was out of his chair before Bucky even finished, hands busy to unfasten his clothes. “Frell, _yes_ ,” he agreed.

Bucky grinned, taking a step back to quite obviously ogle his husband. As always, Tony was a mix of perfect imperfections, his skin bruised in places, hands and arms speckled with tiny nicks and burns. He’d been spending time keeping the ship running, and even more time trying to work the math to force-stop the FTL, dark circles a mute witness to his restless nights, but his smile was as brilliant and loving as ever.

“You need a haircut,” Bucky said. He grabbed the talc and shook some into Tony’s hair, absorbing the oils and then brushing it out. It wasn’t as good as a water shower, but they were all somewhat abraded from using the sonic. And Tony worst of all, his curly hair went crazy when exposed to the sound waves, giving him a mad scientist aura. Once he got Tony’s hair somewhat tamed, he wet a washcloth and started with cleaning Tony’s face. “Void, you’re six shades lighter under all this grime.”

Tony happily tipped his face up for Bucky’s ministrations. “Dren, that feels amazing. It’s like I have actual skin again.” He closed his eyes only long enough for Bucky to wipe gently over them, then opened them again, watching Bucky with bright adoration. “You’re the best.”

Gathering the ends of Tony’s too-long hair in one hand, Bucky scrubbed diligently at Tony’s neck and throat, peeling away the layers of grime, and when he wet the washcloth again, the cloth was stained black with oil and grease. “Oh, look,” he said, a fond smile touching his lips, “I made a clean spot.” He leaned in to feather a warm breath across the fresh skin, nuzzling at the hinge of Tony’s jaw. Tony’s beautiful goatee had filled in, giving him a rough, grizzled appearance.

Bucky wet the cloth again and added a little soap to the cloth, scrubbing down Tony’s shoulders and chest, filling the air with the sharp, artificial lime scent. “You smell like one of them fancy drinks with the little umbrellas,” Bucky observed. Each patch of cleaned skin deserved a caress or a kiss. For a change, Tony didn’t seem in any particular hurry, enjoying the slow, sensual pleasure for its own sake. The lines of his husband’s muscles, the way his hips cocked jauntily, the play of emotion of his face, were like food and water to Bucky’s soul. Bucky shifted a little as his cock took interest, getting an insistent stiffie. But he was also in no rush, just wanting to enjoy Tony and this time they had together.

Tony leaned back and let Bucky clean him, moving his limbs as Bucky requested, watching Bucky through heavy-lidded eyes. He hummed and sighed and moaned a little at each touch, shivering a little at Bucky’s kisses. His cock was erect before long, jumping with interest at each new touch and caress, but Tony didn’t seem inclined to rush things to their inevitable end. He tipped his head back to Bucky could wash his throat, and shuddered with sensation when the washcloth circled his nipples, arching into it gracefully.

“You are so beautiful,” Bucky said, “even when you’re -- no, maybe even _especially_ when you’re covered in engine grease.” He wet the cloth again, wrung it out into a bowl. Even filthy as it was, they could put it through the reclamation system again. Every drop of water that could be saved had to be saved. He tugged Tony closer, washing his back by reaching around, which enclosed a naked, warm and damp Tony in his embrace. The whole time he moved the cloth up and down Tony’s back, he kissed Tony’s jaw, his cheekbones, the end of his nose, fluttered little butterfly kisses against his skin.

“So sentimental,” Tony teased lightly, but he wasn’t making any effort to push Bucky away or avoid those feathery kisses. “I don’t know what to do with you sometimes.”

_Makes up for years of not having any sentiment at all_ , Bucky thought, but didn’t say. Sometimes it was hard, not to dwell on all that Hydra had stolen from him, memories, free will, feelings, and all that they’d forced on him, as well, regret and shame and terror. But bringing them up would get Tony furious on his behalf, and there was nothing to be done about it, aside from enjoy every moment he had. There’d been talk, quiet and the rest of the crew had been careful, but not careful enough. They might die out here in the black. Even if Tony got them out of the FTL event without getting them sucked into the black hole they might not be anywhere that they could safely resupply. Bucky looked down at his husband, who was all soft and sweet and sarcastic at the same time, and he wouldn’t change a moment of it. Not even if they died out here. “I don’t expect you gotta do anythin’ with me,” he said, lightly. “Gonna stay right here an’ embarrass you by bein’ ridiculous.”

Dropping to his knee to wash Tony’s hips and legs, ass and cock and balls, was entirely perfect. Submissive and wanting, aching for Tony’s touch and taste, eager and needy. He tipped his chin to peer up at Tony, to get his fill of the view, Tony, long and lean, one hand balanced on Bucky’s shoulder.  

“Good.” Tony brushed his fingers through Bucky’s hair, then cupped Bucky’s chin and leaned down to kiss him gently. “Love you.” He peppered Bucky’s face with soft kisses; lips, cheeks, nose, eyelids. “So glad I’ve got you.”

“Always,” Bucky said. He let Tony’s foot rest against his thigh, pushing his knee out a little to spread Tony’s legs. And since it was right there anyway, he nuzzled against Tony’s cock, flicked his tongue over the head, relishing the noises Tony made, soft sighs and throaty moans and--

That was not a good noise. Tony stiffened, and not in the fun way, his entire body going upright and rigid, squeaking with shock. “Jesus, Nat!” he gasped. He snatched up the nearest piece of clothing from the floor -- Bucky’s shirt -- and held it over his groin. “What the _frell_?”

“Oh, stop panicking, it’s only me,” she said. Bucky felt his cheeks heating furiously. “I’ve been monitoring the radio waves outside the ship and if I’m putting this together correctly, we’ve got a natural singularity coming up in another week’s travel. I’m no astrophysicist, and my piloting is only a C-class license, but I’m really sure I read something about putting multiple gravitational bodies in the same place being a recipe for ‘interesting’ space travel.”

A C-class pilot’s license allowed her to fly in atmosphere and navigate in near-space, but she hadn’t passed the tests yet to calculate the event singularities, or even to use the slower but safer subspace drives. That being said, everyone who ever touched a stick knew about event collisions. Even if they were rarer than Rodian rubies, no one wanted to be in the middle of that dren.

Tony frowned thoughtfully, modesty all but forgotten. “Yeah, that’s something we’ll want to avoid. Or... Maybe not. Send me the readings you’ve got. I might... I might be able to use it. But -- a week? Okay, I’ve got a week to invent a new type of math. No pressure.” Despite his words, he looked hopeful, maybe even giddy.

Bucky exhaled slowly; even his enhanced hearing couldn’t detect her footsteps. “Is she gone?” Not like it mattered, Tony’s erection was slowly wilting as he started muttering about vectors and horizons and Schwarzschild ratios. “I need t’ find us someplace on this boat what’s _private_. With a door. That closes an’ locks, preferable.”

“There’s a schematic of the ship somewhere in JARVIS’ databanks,” Tony said absently. He leaned in and kissed Bucky’s cheek. “Hold that thought, baby; I just need to jot down some notes.”

Bucky picked up Tony’s pants and held them as Tony absently stepped into them. “JARVIS? Send those schematics to my portable, would you?” Bucky adjusted himself, recovered his shirt, and stomped off into their room to sulk.

***

“Baby,” Tony said reasonably, “you and Steve have the hottest-burning metabolisms on this boat. It works out better if the two of you take on the high-calorie foods.”

Bucky cast the same longing look at the reconned apple slices and a spinach and cheese packed pasty that he’d been giving Tony for the last few days. Honestly, it was like the man had a puppy dog ancestor, the way he pulled out all the same little tricks. Wide eyes and slightly downturned lips and a hopeful flick of his tongue. Admittedly, the pasty smelled pretty good. There’d decidedly been real butter and maybe lemon juice in its making. And the double handful of granola “trail mix” which was making up Bucky’s meal… did not look particularly tasty.

“Rather eat gravel,” Bucky said, poking his spoon around. Roasted, honey coated oats, carob chips with ‘chocolate-y’ flavor, shredded dehydrated coconut spirals, at least six different sorts of sugar, based on the ingredients list, and three different sorts of toasted cereal and bread crumbles, the stuff even _sounded_ like gravel as Bucky pushed it around the bowl.

“Really, if you think about it, we should be grateful for Clint’s junk food obsession,” Tony said. “Otherwise there wouldn’t be enough calories on board for us to survive.”

Bucky scooped up a spoonful of the trail mix and shoved it in his mouth, chewing noisily. “I could jus’ eat _Clint_ ,” Bucky pointed out. “‘M sure he’s got plenty of calories, an’ all the right nutrients in th’ right proportions, too.”

Steve didn’t even wince at his own serving -- the package had been divided equally between them, running almost 800 calories for the half bowl. It was remarkable, really, that they could shove so many calories into something that small. “Better than K-bars,” Steve said. “Remember them, Buck? And Morita risking a court martial?”

Bucky actually leaned back to laugh. “Yeah, everyone thought he was trying to get into the mayor’s wife’s boudoir, but he was really breaking into the kitchen.”

“To steal a bottle of ketchup,” Steve added. “Phillips let him off easy, just latrine duty for two days, because the sneaky little bastard brought back three jars of jam and some tinned fish, too. Remember, we made a cake?”

“That was the most pathetic excuse for a cake I ever saw,” Bucky said. He turned to Tony. “We mashed up two days worth of ration biscuits and mixed them up with coffee creamer to make the cake, and frosted the whole thing with fig jelly.”

“That does sound wholly unappetizing,” Tony agreed. He nudged Bucky a little. “See? This isn’t so bad.” Bucky had fought against eating Clint’s junk food from the beginning.

Bucky picked through his bowl, eating the puff clusters. He got to another carob chip and put it on Tony’s plate. “Go on, then, if it’s not so bad. You eat th’ gorram suboptimal piece of _what the frell even is that made of_ dren. At least the pizza was worth eatin’. Think I’d almost rather starve.”

Tony rolled his eyes and popped the little chip into his mouth. It wasn’t so bad, really, for space-ready food. A little waxy. Okay, a _lot_ waxy. And it didn’t so much taste like chocolate as like something that had once been in the same room with chocolate.

Okay, fine, it was pretty vile.

Tony sighed and pushed the unfinished half of his spinach pasty in Bucky’s direction. “You win.”

Tony was pretty confident that his husband loved him. Probably even more than he loved leafy greens and lean cuts of meat, and fresh fruit. Probably. But the noise that Bucky made when he snatched up the pasty and bit into it almost gave Tony’s confidence the wobbles. “Oh, you’re a wonderful person an’ I love you forever,” Bucky swore. He took another bite and practically sank into his seat in raptures.

Steve rolled his eyes. Their captain looked a lot different than the clean cut, space-scout man he’d been almost two months before, sporting his hair slicked back from his face and tied at the neck, and a full-on lumberjack beard. “Buck?”

Bucky eyed Steve cautiously, obviously preparing to be yelled at for breaking ranks about the rations, even though everyone had been trading like crazy since the first month rolled over and most of their reconned meal packs were gone. “Yeah, Stevie?”

“You gonna eat that?” Steve was eyeing Bucky’s remaining granola covetously.

“No, no, I am not,” Bucky said, and pushed it across the table. “You can have it.”

“Thanks.” Steve tipped the bowl up and practically drank the rest of the mix, scraping every molecule into his mouth with the spoon and then looking like the universe’s blondest chipmunk, cheeks bulging obscenely as he chewed.


	13. Chapter 13

JARVIS’s schematics had proven to be incomplete -- Bucky wasn’t entirely surprised. Steve had once been a fairly patriotic, upright sort of man, principals so straight and strict you could see them from orbit. Somewhere in there, he’d gotten bitter, and in addition to breaking his contract and going on the run from Shield, he’d done some smuggling work. Knowing Steve, it was smuggling medication to planets where the government diverted life-saving pharmaceuticals away from those who needed them, or who charged through the nose so that only the middle class and wealthy could have good health.

It was a subtle encouragement to sign up for the various enhancement programs; not only did you get a stipend, but your own physical needs were taken care of. So what if you were signing up for a lifetime of slavery, so long as your belly was full and your siblings weren’t starving in the streets?

Bucky sighed, inched forward through the below deck tube. He’d found one smuggling room already, a narrow closet between the air recycling units and temperature control, and he’d been considering it for a romp, although he’d have to hold Tony up and fuck him against the wall. Which was sounding better all the time.

On the other hand, if he could, he’d like to find someplace they could spread a blanket and lay down for a while. They certainly weren’t getting any privacy in their own bunk. If Tony wasn’t in front of his computers, or scribbling math on his portable, everyone assumed he was slacking off. Even if they didn’t outright yell at him, they hovered. Keeping Tony from resting, driving him with their worry.

Wasn’t like Bucky wasn’t worried. He was. But sending their only hope into a constant state of anxiety was not helping the situation any, and so help him, if it happened again, he was going to have some words with--

“-- know I don’t believe that.” The voice was so loud, directly overhead, that Bucky dropped flat on the floor and clapped both hands over his mouth. He hadn’t had much interaction with Clint’s friend, Coulson. Despite having a little too much in common, Bucky was finding it difficult to form a shared-trauma bond with the man. Not in this confined space, not when Bucky already had so much on his plate to worry about. He felt bad for the man, but there just wasn’t enough bandwidth for Bucky to take that on.

“Then why won’t you _talk_ to me?” Clint’s voice demanded plaintively.

“It’s not that easy,” Coulson said. “You were gone a long time, and things are different. _I’m different_. Tahiti… Clint, I was dead. Really dead. You did nothing wrong, walking away. I wasn’t in there anymore. What they did to me? I don’t always think all of me came back. You didn’t need that… guilt. For something you couldn’t change.”

“But you _did_ come back,” Clint argued. “So what if you changed some? You think that didn’t change me, having to leave you behind like that? I’ve thought you were dead for so long, and all this time you could’ve ‘waved me...”

This was not a conversation that Bucky ought to be listening to; Clint sounded an inch from tears and their cocky pilot rested a lot on his reputation for being a hot dumpster fire. This… Clint would be utterly humiliated if he knew Bucky had overheard it. That being said, Bucky wasn’t sure he could get out of the narrow space without drawing attention to himself.

“I thought it would be better,” Coulson said. “What would you have done? Come home? To what? A dead man and a mountain of debt, and no chance? I wanted… I wanted for you something so much better than that. I didn’t know where you’d gone for the longest time, and then… well, the _Avenger_ landing on Triskelion was really public. You looked happy. How could I ruin that for you?”  

“Sure, because mourning doesn’t last a whole lifetime,” Clint snapped. “I _was_ happy. This is a good ship, a good crew. But I would’ve been _happier_ knowing you were still alive. Even if you didn’t want me around any more.”

“I _never_ said that,” Coulson said. “I would never-- I never thought that, not _anything_ like that. The closest I ever came to anything like not wanting you… not wanting you around, was to be frelling grateful that you… that you weren’t there, that they didn’t take you, too, for their project. That you didn’t have to suffer that, as well. The whole time, the whole time they-- I was _begging_ for them to let me die. And then I was put in charge of tracking the rest of them down, the ones that Tahiti drove insane. Every time, I was terrified it would be you, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to do it.”

“But it wasn’t,” Clint said. “And now we’ve been on this boat for a _month_ and I can count the number of times you’ve spoken to me on my fingers! _Why?_ ”

“Shield assigned Daisy Johnson to me,” Coulson said. “Powerful. She’s a natural, took to the Terragenesis perfectly. She’s developed psychic abilities from her bonding. At first, I thought it was because she was so strong; if I needed to be put down, she could do it. But… Daisy became more than that, she was... You’d like her. Smart, sarcastic, she was like. A second chance, to do it right. I could be her mentor and her friend, and the father she never had and it wasn’t all… tangled up with other things.”

“What does that have to do with anything? She’s not here now,” Clint pressed. “And I am.”

“There’s no one on this boat more aware of you than I am.” Coulson groaned. “You think I don’t see you? That couldn’t possibly be less true. And you deserve better. I was your mentor, your commanding officer. I practically adopted you to keep you out of jail, and it was wrong. Everything I did was wrong, Clint, for the _wrong reasons_ , and why are you pushing me?”

“Because I don’t care if it was _wrong_ , Phil! You were all I cared about, and I thought... no, I _know_ you cared about me, too. And now you’re pretending I’m a ghost, and I can’t stand it!”

“You’re not the ghost,” Coulson said. “You’re the only thing that was ever real. Thought I was dead in that Hydra pit and I opened my eyes and there you were? How… miracles don’t happen, happily ever after is a shit line, and true love doesn’t exist. What I wanted was wrong, it is wrong, and you should _let it go_.”

Bucky inhaled, and wished to the void that someone had invented teleporting, because he really did not want to be here for this conversation. He started pushing backward, soft as he could manage it, one nerve-wracking inch at a time.

“To frell with your wrong,” Clint said, and he was definitely crying now. “And to frell with miracles and happily ever after and true love. I don’t care about any of that. All I ever wanted was you.”

“Clint.” And one of them was moving, Bucky couldn’t tell if Clint threw himself at Coulson, or if Coulson dragged him in, but the sound of two bodies colliding was unmistakable. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m an idiot, I’m so sorry--”

If Clint had any sense left at all, Coulson’s mouth was probably too occupied to continue to offer useless apologies. In any case, it wasn’t any of Bucky’s business, but he hoped the two of them got their dren straight, because otherwise the rest of this trip was going to be frelling awkward.

Just before Bucky got out of earshot, he heard the distinct sound of cloth tearing and Coulson saying, “Oh, I’m going to the special hell…”

***

Bucky was only a shadow against the darkness, the light of Tony’s monitor barely reflecting in his eyes as he moved on light feet into the engine room. Tony braced himself for either another lecture about getting sleep or a too concerned conversation about his well being. They were running up against the line. In two days, Bucky and Steve were going into cryo to save air and supplies. By the end of the week, everyone would be in the freezer, except Tony. And Clint, who was necessary to any maneuvers that Tony might decide would help.

If there were any.

If Tony couldn’t come up with anything, he would put Clint into cryo in another month, and then stand guard for the rest of the trip. There was enough food, on half-rations, if he slept a lot. Enough air, for just one person. Reclamation, provided they didn’t lose another pipe.

They’d all live and Tony could wake them when the _Avenger_ broke normal space. Assuming he was still sane and hadn’t starved in the meanwhile.

Assuming they broke out anywhere that they could resupply. There was no way to know where they would regain normal space, no way to know if there would be a planet that could support human life within range of their sublight engines.

There wasn’t any time left for sleep.

“Hey baby,” Bucky said, and he leaned down and kissed the sensitive skin behind Tony’s ear.

“I can’t,” Tony said, even as he leaned into Bucky’s touch. “I have to, I _have_ to figure this out. I can’t let you go back into cryo.”

“I know,” Bucky said. “I got faith in you, honey. Come on, just an hour. Let me take a good memory with me, hmmm? Let me make love with you, one more time?” He nipped at Tony’s earlobe, sucking the shell into his mouth and then blowing cool air over the wet skin.

Tony hesitated, shivering at the sensation. “I’m going to fix this,” Tony said. “I swear.” He put his hand over Bucky’s where it rested on his shoulder, squeezing Bucky’s fingers. “I _swear_.”

“That’s not a no,” Bucky said. His hands were wandering, one sliding into the collar of Tony’s shirt to caress his chest, the other tangling in his hair as Bucky lavished attention on Tony’s ear and throat and jaw. “I got th’ perfect place. One of the _Avenger_ ’s smuggling closets. Ain’t no one gonna be lookin’ for us there. Just an hour. Won’t hurt nothin’, I promise. Besides, you ain’t gotten any in weeks, who knows, maybe it’ll help.”

“That is-- oh...” It was really hard to concentrate when Bucky was nibbling at his neck like that. “That is the worst, grasping-for-straws, least romantic proposition ever,” he said, but he couldn’t bring himself to push Bucky away. They _hadn’t_ made love for weeks. Every time they tried, someone came in to interrupt. “...Smuggling closet, you say?”

“Ain’t even on JARVIS’s schematic. I ain’t sure Stevie even knows it’s there,” Bucky said, his voice taking on a satisfied croon, sensing weakness. “I’ll hold you up, against th’ wall. Like I wanted, after our betrothal, remember?”

A shudder of pure desire rippled down Tony’s body. “Yeah,” he rasped. God, he wanted. And that flood of endorphins did frequently jump-start his thought processes, help him make intuitive leaps. “Promise you won’t let me fall asleep, after. _Promise_. Too much to do.”

“I _swear_. I’ll bring you right back here, make you coffee. Been saving some water rations for you,” Bucky told him. “C’mon.” Bucky handed him a small bottle of lube and offered Tony his arm, like they were going to a fancy party.

Tony couldn’t quite laugh, not with things as dire as they were, but he managed a smile as he took his husband’s arm. “All right. Lead the way, gorgeous.”

Bucky led him through the bowels of the ship, between the drive coolant system tanks and ducked under a stair. He bent, pushed at a panel near the second step and the door slid away, seamless, leading into a very narrow corridor. “Thought this mighta been a maintenance tunnel at first, but there’s no exits t’ the engine. Just a little room with a lockable door.” The light of Tony’s arc-reactor gave the hall a vaguely oceanic feel, reflecting back deep sea blue.

“You’ve really been putting some effort into this search, huh?” Tony trailed one hand along the wall as they sidled down the corridor. “And you dusted?”

Bucky blinked. “No, what? I didn’t?” They reached the end of the hallway and Bucky took a pick-key out of his pocket to jimmie the latch.

The door opened--

Steve’s pale Irish skin threw back the faint light like a mirror. Back, ass, and thighs visible, his pants pooled around his ankles. Nat’s legs were wrapped around Steve’s slender waist and her hands were digging into his shoulders.

Steve froze, mid thrust, and Nat made a soft, mournful sound.

“Frelling void!” Bucky actually took a step backward in shock, his hand going up to cover his eyes in a traditional see-no-evil pose. Which was almost funny, right up until he reached out with his right hand and tried to cover _Tony’s_ eyes.

Tony sighed. “Back to work?”

“Well,” Nat said, leaning her chin against Steve’s shoulder, “I’m not inviting either of you to a threesome.”

“I’m not saying a threesome wouldn’t be hot,” Tony said, and then everything seemed to _stop_. “Oh, void, oh frelling _void_ , Nat, you’re _brilliant._ ” He turned and ran for the computer banks.

Bucky pushed the door shut with the very tips of his fingers. “I am scarred for life.”

***

Clint answered Tony’s summons with a haste that would have been unheard-of, a month ago. “You have something?”

“I have it,” Tony said. “You know how if you open a black hole on top of another black hole, they eat each other and then explode?”

“Yyyessss...” Clint hedged, looking nervous. “I thought we’d already discounted that natural ‘hole that Nat spotted. It’s going to be too far away to really do anything with.”

“It would,” Tony said excitedly, “if we only had the one event.”

“We _do_ have only the one event,” Clint pointed out.

“The shuttle has a BEHS drive, too,” Tony pointed out. “It can only manage short hops, but that’ll be enough! Three events colliding will create a ripple effect, where two would just resonate.”

Clint stared at him. “Let me get this straight. You’re going to override the safeties on the shuttle’s BEHS drive and generate a _second_ black hole, with the goal of, essentially, playing billiards with us as the cue ball?”

“More or less,” Tony admitted. “We’ll need a corner bank shot, too, but you’re the best pilot I’ve ever met or even heard of, _ever_. You can do this.” His hands flew over the keys, building the simulation, but he knew, he _knew_ it could work. “Look!”

Clint watched the simulation build, scratching at his face. “That’s... Are you sure your parameters are good?”

“Clint, it’s our only choice,” Tony pointed out. “We might not be able to resupply wherever we fall out, in which case we’re back to cryopods for the trip home. This is our _only_ option, and it gets slimmer the longer we wait.”

“Okay, _now_ I’m scarred for life,” Bucky said, coming into the room with what smelled like fresh coffee. “Are we seriously thinkin’ about a three singularity event?”

Tony made grabby hands for the coffee, pulling it close up against his chest as soon as Bucky surrendered the cup. “We are,” he agreed. “It’ll knock us around a little because we’ll be sliding sideways across the seam, but it will drop us right back into normal space in a matter of minutes, as soon as we fire up the shuttle’s BEHS.”

“Or, you know,” Bucky said, twitching his mouth to one side, “we all die instantly. Which ain’t exactly disagreeable, as we’re dyin’ an inch at a time right now.”

“See?” Tony said. “Hardly any downside at all!” He packaged the simulation and sent it to Steve’s and Nat’s computers, for them to look at... later. There was time; it would take him most of a day to make all the adjustments to the shuttle’s BEHS. He grabbed his toolkit, and hesitated. “You guys talk to the rest of the crew. This... It’s our best hope, but it should be a crew decision. I’m going to start work, in case of a Go.”

“I told you, you’d do it,” Bucky said, pulling Tony in for a brief, passionate kiss. “Gonna be sore that it was _Steve’s_ ass that inspired you, but you still belong t’ me.”

Clint snorted. “You saw Steve’s ass and you’re not blind? That man is the lily-whitest--”

“I don’t even want to know how you know that,” Steve said, mildly, coming into the engine room. “You have a solution, Tony?” Steve was still flushed red and had a fresh bite mark on his throat, his hair a mess, but he looked calm and contained.

“I think so,” Tony said. “I’m going to have to go do some illegal things to the shuttle to make it work, though. Bucky and Clint can fill you in.”

“I wonder what it’s like to have a nice, ordinary life,” Clint muttered. “Go. Do your hinky voodoo magic dren.”

“So, uh… Tony is assuming the laws of physics don’t apply to him,” Bucky started, bringing up the equation, its lines a beautiful array of lights and numbers.

“They do so apply!” Tony called. “I’m just going to make _them_ obey _me_ for a change!”


	14. Chapter 14

Clint was manning the bridge. Coulson was there, too -- what help he’d be, Tony didn’t know, but he figured if it all went wrong and they were going to die, they might as well be together for it.

Steve and Natasha were in the engine room. They weren’t quite as good at mechanics as Tony, but he didn’t expect the engine room to need any mid-maneuver repairs. Being there and ready to act meant Steve wasn’t pacing and fretting and pestering Clint or Tony, though, and that was all to the good.

Bruce was in the medbay, of course. It was pointless -- they’d either come out of this smooth and easy, or they’d be dead -- but maybe the routine of it soothed him. Sam was there, too mostly to help keep Bruce calm, but maybe partly to give himself something to do that wasn’t just sitting and waiting.

Which left Bucky and Tony to man the shuttle.

“You’re going to undock the shuttle,” Tony reminded him, “but _not_ release the mooring cables. I need to be undocked to engage the drive. And as _soon_ as I’ve got it started--”

“Dock ‘er again,” Bucky finished. “Don’t worry, baby. I got this. You just focus on your part.”

His part. Right. Tony’s part, aside from manually kicking off the BEHS drive, was to coordinate the whole thing.

“Clint, how’re those signatures looking?”

“Closest approach to the secondary event is within ten minutes,” Clint said. He’d shed all his relaxed, ridiculous persona to become the consummate pilot. It was an impressive transformation. “If we’re going to abort and avoid, now is our window.”

“We all voted to do this,” Steve put in. “We’re all in this together.”

Tony flipped up the simulation he’d saved to his portable. “Scan, all frequencies,” he told Clint. “Let me know anything that adjusts our estimate of the secondary’s size by more than two percent.”

“Our margin of error is two percent?” Sam said.

“Chatter,” chided Steve.

“Two percent is huge,” Clint assured him. “I could float a luxury liner through a two percent gap. Tony’s math is _tight_.”

“Luckily, the _Avenger_ is a little more maneuverable than a luxury liner,” Tony said. “Any adjustments for me, Clint?”

“Infrared, check. Gamma emissions, check. Radio emissions, check. We’re looking good.”

Tony thumbed off his commlink. He cupped Bucky’s face and kissed him, tender and slow. “Love you,” he breathed.

Bucky leaned up into the kiss, but couldn’t follow when Tony pulled away, being already strapped into the pilot’s chair. “Love you too, honey,” he said. “You got this.”

Frell, but Tony hoped so. He turned his commlink back on and made his way to the shuttle’s small drive. He flipped the overrides he’d installed and took hold of the controls. “Clint, give us a mark for closest approach.”

“Aye that,” Clint said. “Closest approach on my mark in two minutes.”

At one minute, Bucky fired up the shuttle’s engines.

At forty-five seconds, Natasha reported the engine room’s readiness.

At thirty seconds, he disengaged the docking locks. A warning chime let them know that the mooring tethers were still fastened.

“On my mark,” said Clint. “Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Bridge is on standby for maneuvers. Three. Two. One. Mark.”

One eye on the simulation, Tony launched the shuttle’s BEHS, generating a third black hole between the event the _Avenger_ was surfing and the rim of the secondary, natural event.

The sudden kick of the extra gravity well jolted the ship. “Bucky!”

“I’m on it!” Bucky called back, not bothering with the comms. Deftly, he dropped the shuttle back into place on the Avenger, and a heavy _thunk_ told them that they’d successfully re-docked.

Tony kept his eyes on the simulation. Too close to co-exist, the two BEHS-generated black holes swirled around each other in a dance of death, closer and closer. “Everyone brace for the shockwave!” Tony said.

Before he even finished saying it, the ship rocked, rolling over faster than the artificial gravity could keep up.

If it had only been the two holes, the Avenger would have been destroyed in the collision, but the natural black hole pulled at them as soon as the BEHS wave collapsed, yanking them toward it. “Clint!”

As the ship’s BEHS drive disengaged, Tony’s heart stuttered -- literally, his arc reactor pulsing irregularly as the drive tried and failed to find the crest of the event horizon it had been surfing. The subsonic whine of the grav drive kicking in made his teeth itch, until it was fully engaged, and then Clint was nudging them out, away from the lone remaining black hole.

The whole ship shuddered, and something rattled unsettlingly, and then they were in normal space, a starfield filling the shuttle’s viewscreen.

“We did it!” cheered Clint.

“Good job, team,” Steve put in. “Everyone okay? Sound off.”

Bucky called out his aye even as he yanked off the safety harness and flung himself toward Tony. He caught Tony up and spun around, laughing. “You did it, baby! I told you, you could do it!”

Tony mumbled his soundoff and tucked his face in against Bucky’s neck, shaking with adrenaline and post-action nerves.

“Not to put a damper on the celebration,” Clint said slowly, “but... the navcomp’s going a little bit insane. It can’t identify any local star patterns. I hate to say it, but we’re off the charts, here, people.”

***

“Look, we haven’t used th’ shuttle for anything since we hit the FTL event,” Bucky pointed out. “The Avenger’s drive’s not depleted, but why burn its fuel if we don’t have to? I’m just sayin’, let me an’ Tony an’ Bruce scout around a bit. There’s three possible M-class planets, each within a light-day’s travel. Stay here, an’ we’ll let you know when to come.”

They’d be off the ship for almost five days, maybe less if their first planet was a good fit. They didn’t need too much; centuries of space travel had led to the discovery that most planets that had the ability to create life (water, goop, and a little luck) went along the same lines, creating plants, animals, oxygen, and useful metals and materials. If Bucky was the sort of man who believed in God, he’d say the universe had been designed.

Of course, there were always planets that proved to be completely contrary, methane breathers and the like. But that’s what sensor packages were for, right?

Restocking air and water and food for a return trip that was going to be -- probably, unless Tony could find a way to use the natural black hole on the way back to their galaxy -- at least twice as long with traditional jumps. Well, that would take a while, and the Avenger’s fuel chips were vital for that task. No sense wasting them.

“I just don’t think you should go in such a small group,” Steve responded, scratching at his beard. “What if there are hostiles?”

Bruce chuckled at that. “If there’s something I can’t protect them from, I daresay you’re not going to be any help.”

“And it’s not like Bucky and I are helpless,” Tony pointed out. “Look, I’ve got JARVIS performing spectrum analysis of the local stars, but that’s going to take a few days before he has enough data to extrapolate a map for us to navigate with. Just let us go and restock on water and food and stuff so we don’t have to be eating Clint’s fruity oaty bars all the way home.”

“Hey,” Clint objected. “You’d all be a lot thinner if I hadn’t planned ahead.”

“Is that what we’re calling it, now?” Nat asked. “I thought it was a reckless experiment in Fury’s credit limit.”

Steve sighed. “All right. Five days. And pin-beam us, every single time you come out of FTL, I want to know where you are, I want regular check ins, and I want you to be safe. We haven’t come through this dren to lose anyone now.”

Tony saluted, deliberately sloppy. “Aye-aye, Captain!”

He didn’t wait for Steve to respond before he turned to Bruce. “You’ll want to pack a bedroll. There’s only one bunk on the shuttle, and it definitely won’t fit three.”

“Barely fits two,” Bucky muttered, feeling a sly smile tugging at his mouth. “Which Tony and I both know quite well.” It was a newer shuttle; the one they’d escaped to Knowhere on had been left there, but the _Avenger’s_ shuttle bay wasn’t so large as to allow much in the way of options. They certainly couldn’t load any of the fancy, slipper-class shuttles and still have the Avenger able to break atmosphere. Ship upgrades like that were only for ring-dockers, and that would put a damper on the sorts of jobs that the _Avenger_ could take.

Not, mind, that Bucky was all that happy about having to take Bruce -- he wanted some alone time with his husband, and Tony wasn’t kidding about the shuttle being small. But Bruce was a biologist, and even with the probability of finding nutrients and water, it’d be better, smarter, to have an expert.

“All right, get your kits together, Bruce, Tony,” Bucky said. “We’re for detachment in twenty minutes.” He held out a hand to Steve, who clasped it, drew him in for a quick hug, and pounded him on the back a few times.

“Stay safe,” Steve reiterated, with that watery smile that meant he was trying to avoid getting sentimental. “We’ll hold down the fort.”

***

The first planet was entirely unsuitable; not that it couldn’t have supported oxygen breathing life forms, but that it was too early in the geological stability formation; mostly made up of surface volcanoes and rafts of stone floating on seas that were boiling. Come back in a few millennia, and it might be fit for human habitation. That being said, the ring of moonlets around the planet were filthy rich with proto-crystals. Some time inside a pressure module and exposed to the Avenger’s arc-reactor core, and they could make fuelpacks. Tony sent a remote out to harvest a basketful of them, and then he had to slap Bucky’s hand away from them, because while the crystals were beautiful, a glittery pile of ruby red and emerald green and rich topaz, they were also razor sharp and could probably cut all the way through his fingers.

It was the second planet on their survey run, however, that was the conundrum.

It was, in a word, perfect. It was rich with oxygen, full of plantlife and a wide mix of flora and fauna. The mineral resources were adequate, if a bit heavy on aluminum deposits, as well as oddly lacking in some of the denser metals. Copious rainfall and temperate climate. Should be perfect.

“It’s inhabited,” Bruce pointed out. “Thick population centers, especially around these lakes. I’d say probably the inland lakes are the best source of fresh, potable water and their society has sprung up around that.”

Tony grunted, staring at the readouts. “I don’t see a satellite network,” he said. “Are we on first contact protocols, or do we think we can sneak in and out?”

“They’re neo-Luddites,” Bucky said, suddenly. “Religious fanatics, anti-techies.” He raised one hand and pointed a shaking finger at the planet’s primary satellite. Nestled in the crater of the moon, the side that would always face away from the planet, was a massive, generational colony ship, fully five kilometers long. “Sneaking in and out, not a problem. But if they catch us, they’re going to go on a witchhunt.”  

“And here I thought it was just the parts of the galaxy that we left behind that wanted us dead,” Tony said. He blew out a breath. “Well, let’s set down somewhere out of the way and see if we can pass as locals or if we’re going to have to ghost the whole thing.”

“Here,” Bruce tapped the map. “Southern hemisphere, it’s warm there, right now. Growing season, that’s good for us. And… this is interesting.” He leaned closer, then pinched the map up to an expanded view. “This…. This signature? Here?”

“What is it?”

“Vibranium,” Bruce reported. “That’s, um. That’s not a local metal. There’s only one place in the known galaxy that has vibranium.”

“This ain’t exactly the known galaxy,” Bucky pointed out.

“Bruce is right,” Tony said, studying the signature. “If it was a local metal, there would be more of it than this.” He glanced at them. “We’re not the only aliens to drop in.”

“All right,” Bucky said. He pulled up a scan of the local weather maps. “I’m going to drop us in through this rainstorm, should keep us from making a flash for the locals to gander at. Might be a rough landing, so strap everything down. Gonna put us…” He swiped through the topographical readings. “There’s a little clearing here, close enough to the water that we can scavenge easily, far enough out from town that our biggest risk is picnickers. You’ve got that camo ready, Tony?”

Tony strapped into the copilot’s seat and danced his hands across the control board. “Ready when you are, babe.”

Bruce strapped into the third of the four seats and tucked his glasses into his pocket. “Better if I don’t see it,” he said. “I’ve been known to backseat pilot a few times.”

“Happy to teach you th’ board, if you want,” Bucky offered. “Always good to have back ups. Tony, lock down that stabilizer, the wind shear here is horrific.” He pulled up the flaps and started their atmospheric descent, the outside weather rattling the little shuttle as soon as they broke out of the cloud cover with sharp pings. Hail the size of grapes slashed against the observation dome.

“I didn’t pack hardhats,” Tony quipped, flipping through the radio bands for local chatter. Not that there was any, with neo-Luddite settlements. “We may have to stay in the ship until that hail clears up.” Another switch flick, and the vents opened to take in the fresh air. Some of it filtered into the cabin, but most of it went into the scrubbers in the ship’s belly, collecting oxygen and storing it in the shuttle’s oxy tanks. Any fresh oxy they could take back to the _Avenger_ was good oxy.

Bucky sneezed three or four times in a row. “Fresh air,” he said. “I think I’m allergic.” It certainly was new; there were some gaps in his memory, even now, but he was almost positive he’d never actually touched down on a virgin planet, one where industry and just the general existence of modern-day humans hadn’t scented the air, tamed the wilderness. A sudden grin touched his mouth. Steve had once expressed an interest in wrestling with a bear or a moose or something particularly large and obstinate. Maybe Bucky would get a chance.

“It probably won’t kill you,” Tony said. “Where’s our vibranium signature?”

“West bank of the tributary river, two point three clicks south of our landing,” Bucky reported. “We can scope it out. If they’re locals with a meteorite, maybe they won’t mind too much if we steal it.” Or, he thought, have the guns and weaponry to back up _objecting_ to it.

“I sure wouldn’t mind getting my hands on some,” Tony agreed. He turned off the radio. “Nothing local,” he reported, “and if our vibranium-toting friends are broadcasting an SOS, they’re pinbeaming it. Which reminds me.” He fired up the communications console and ‘beamed a brief report back in the direction of the _Avenger_.

Bucky took the straight drop, a stomach-churning maneuver that he wouldn’t have done anywhere else; any planet that logged flightpaths would go haywire at a landing pattern that risky, but the biggest danger here was being spotted in the sky. The less time the shuttle was outlined against the clouds, the better.

“Hang on to your butts,” Bucky muttered, then slammed the ‘jets. He probably singed the treetops and certainly the landing wasn’t good for the grass, but they were down.

Bruce was a little green in the throat when Bucky turned around, but as he bolted for the bathroom as soon as he unbuckled, Bucky was going to go with motion-sickness, rather than Hulking out.

Tony unpeeled his hands from the arms of the copilot’s chair. “Well, that was an... innovative landing,” he managed. After a few deep breaths, he got up and went back into the cargo area of the shuttle. “Might as well set up our water-collectors to pick up some of this rain, as long as it lasts.” He grinned at Bucky. “Want to go outside and pretend we’re just taking a cold shower?”

“I might commit murder to be actually _clean_ ,” Bucky declared. “Let’s get t’ work. If we lollygag too long, Steve’ll show up in th’ _Avenger_ with guns blazing.” He honestly would not put it past the man to launch an assault if they so much as missed a check in. He keyed in the hatch sequence and then practically raced Tony out of the shuttle.

The air was thick with rain; they’d left the hail behind in the high atmosphere, at least, and the ground was soft and blueish green with grass. A flock of birds, startlingly black against the trees, took flight in a great cloud, circling the ship before resettling. Bucky took a few deep breaths, threw his arms out and lifted his face toward the rain.

Tony came down the ramp behind him, a little slower, grinning. “Feels good,” he agreed, tipping his own face up. His hair was plastered against his skull in mere moments, and his clothes sticking to his skin. “Come on, Bruce, come join in the party!”

Bruce came out, followed by a fleet of automated collection bins that he set to form a perimeter around the shuttle. “I’m gonna get some samples, just to be sure. Try not to swallow too much of it before I finish the analysis?”

“Spoilsport,” Bucky said, but he kept his mouth mostly closed, even if he did scrub at his scalp and face, relishing in the feeling of getting rid of layers of grime. He wrung out his hair and then ruffled through it a few times. Once they got set up, he was going to trek to the nearest river and jump the frell in, possible water contaminants or not.

“Stay close to the shuttle,” Bruce chided, scooping up a handful of the local grass to run through his spectrum analyzer.

“Uh-huh,” agreed Tony, not paying very much attention as he wandered over to a tree to examine the shape of its leaves.

It was like being a kid again, almost, Bucky thought. Within moments, both he and Tony were bringing back various samples for Bruce to clear, and… oh, frelling void, Bucky dropped to his knees, folded up the end of his shirt and started rapid-fire picking something that bore a suspicious resemblance to raspberries, only they were a golden pink color, instead of the rich red Bucky was used to. Smelled ripe, at any rate. He wasn’t sure how he was meant to resist them, if Bruce put the kibosh on eating them, but--

“Check these,” he said, dropping three of them in Bruce’s hand, keeping the majority of them in his shirt-basket.

“What’s that?” Tony demanded, immediately popping up at Bucky’s elbow. “What did you-- Oh dren, _berries_. Where did you get those? Are there more?” He whirled around without waiting for Bucky’s answer, looking for the bushes.

Bruce rolled his eyes, although he was grinning. “If you give yourself a green stomach, Tony, you have only yourself to blame, would you wait--” The spec-ana chimed. “Oh, these are… yes. Go ahead, you can eat them. Good source of magnesium. They might be a little sour, but good for antioxidants.”

Bucky didn’t wait for the full nutritional analysis before taking a half dozen or more and tossing them into his mouth. A bit sour, almost like cranberries, with a lemony scent. “Oh, void, that’s…” He offered a handful to Tony, chewing his mouthful with relish. “Look, they’re a scrub brush, below this -- heather-y stuff.” He lifted the fluffy stalky grass to show Tony where he’d found the berries.

“Ooh!” Tony started picking the berries as fast as he could, stuffing every third or so into his mouth and tossing the rest into a samples bin.

Both of them were starved for vitamins, fresh food, and it served a deep craving, so Bucky didn’t do anything more than laugh as Tony’s mouth got smeared with the golden berry juice and both of them had sticky hands and lips. A sharp rustling sound issued from the bush and before Bucky could react, something round and furry launched itself at Tony, knocking him onto his ass with surprise.

The creature, about the size of a cat, with long legs and ridiculous ears, slammed a hindfoot into Tony’s chest a few times, making a thudding sound, before bounding off.

Tony sat up, then scrambled to his feet. “Meat,” he said, and was gone, chasing after the little creature.

“You’re gonna be outsmarted by a rabbit,” Bucky predicted, raising his voice as Tony got toward the edge of the clearing. He considered chasing after them both -- his run speed was probably better than any land-based rodent -- but decided to stay and pick berries instead. If he did most of the picking, Tony couldn’t complain about how many he’d _eaten_. Bucky ate another handful and wondered how they’d taste in a jam.


	15. Chapter 15

The critter was fast, but not particularly clever, running an almost straight line away, and Tony was able to catch up to it when it stopped to catch its breath. A decent jump -- and thank frell for Extremis, because he could never have managed a graceful pounce like that before -- and he caught its leg. The thing screamed like a child, but a quick twist and Tony put it out of its pain. Plump, nearly the size of a chicken, Tony thought, it should make for a good roast, and maybe a stew the next night. Exactly what they all needed.

He slung the creature over his shoulder, looked up, and realized he was right up against… a building?

Put together with tight fitted boards that were caulked with mud, there were no windows to be seen, at least from that angle. Two stories tall, and the size of a barn. Tony leaned one hand against the wood and felt… humming under his fingertips. Like a lot of bees. Or something mechanical.

Tony glanced over his shoulder, back the way he’d come, then decided it would be better to get as much information as he could before going back. Slowly, he worked his way around the building, trusting to the rain to keep prying eyes off, until he found the door.

He pressed his ear against it, listening for voices or any other signs of life. Nothing. Even that strange humming was somewhat muted here. Carefully, Tony opened the door a crack. Nothing happened. It was even darker inside the building. Tony slid through the gap and looked into the dark, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

He took another step and automatic lights came up, soft and subdued, shining brilliant electric light on… oh, _void_ , computers and hard-light monitors and fabricators and -- was that an actual Wakandan magnetic waverider? Tony’d only read about them, they certainly weren’t available on the general market.

This _definitely_ wasn’t local. Tony took another step toward the waverider, fascinated and hungry for knowledge.

“And that’s far enough,” a voice said behind him. “Hands up, nice and slow.” And that was even English, albeit with a thicker accent than Tony was used to hearing. “Turn around.”

Tony’s captor was… a kid. Maybe twelve years old, with a shock of dirty blond hair, a round face with lingering babyfat in the cheeks, wearing a plaid shirt and jeans. He looked very serious, however, and he had a weapon pointed at Tony’s chest.

Tony kept his hands up. “Hey there.” Frell, he’d dropped his dinner. “I come in peace?”

“What is that thing in your chest?” the kid asked, tone light and interested, but the muzzle of the weapon never wavered. “That’s not local.”

“Miniature arc reactor,” Tony said. “None of this stuff is local, either, so what do you say we work together on this, yeah?”

“In your chest?” the kid looked incredulous. “What for? You can use Kimoyo beads to repair any microtears in the heart. You may as well clonk around on a pegleg.”

“Not everyone has access to the finest of -- I assume -- Wakandan tech,” Tony said. “Certainly not the kind of pirates who shoot first and then realize you’re more valuable alive than dead. What’s your name, kid?”

“Harley,” he said. “Shuri’s gonna freak, and MJ’s gonna have my head on a platter. How’d you find this place? No one knows it’s here.”

“Harls!” Another voice yelled, “come on, dinner’s--oh!” Another kid, this one somewhat older, actually did a frelling backflip and landed on the wall, clinging to it like an insect. “Wha-- where did you-- oh, void, that’s Mr. Stark!”

“Peter, shut up!” Harley hissed. “I got this.”

“You know me,” Tony told the kid on the wall. He couldn’t stop looking at that. How was he doing that? _Why_ was he doing that? Some weird Wakandan thing, no doubt. “So you know I’m not a local. Tell your little brother here to put away the potato gun and we can talk like civilized people.”

“Of course I know you,” Peter said. He dropped neatly to the ground. “You met my dad, once. Richard Parker? He worked a security detail for you, back on Malibu? Well, you probably don’t remember, it was a think tank thing, with Oscorp… Anyway, it’s really great to meet you, I’ve been following your work since, well, I was when… Harley, put that down, he’s not going to hurt anyone. Besides, your muzzle’s too long, I told you already, that’s really going to put a crimp on your rate of fire and velocity. Wow, are… uh, are you here to rescue us?”

“Don’t be stupid, Peter,” Harley said, although he did put the gun down. “They wouldn’t send this guy -- are you sure it’s Stark, he doesn’t look like any pictures of Stark I ever saw -- to rescue us. He’s like part of the Enhancile Rights Movement. Not search and rescue.”

“They might,” Peter insisted, stubbornly. “Someone’s gotta realize that Princess Shuri’s not dead. She’s _important_. Someone would come for her.”   

“I love the way you can’t keep your mouth shut for _five seconds_ ,” Harley snarked. “What are you doing, planning to give him your resume and uni scores while you’re at it? What if he’s a spy? He could be dangerous. You are going to get us all killed.”

“Wait, why would anyone think Princess Shuri was dead?” Tony interrupted.

“You don't get to ask the questions here,” Harley snapped. Which didn't seem to deter the other boy at all.

“Did you know King T’challa? He was killed by his cousin. The general of the Dora--”

“Peter! Shut up!” Harley was shaking and it was hard to tell if it was fear or rage. Little bit of both maybe.

Tony couldn’t blame him, though. Not if King T’challa was dead. “Frelling dren,” he said. “Why? What happened? I’m -- we’ve been stuck in FTL for over a month, we’re a little behind on news.”

“Look, Harls, let's just bring him to Shuri. Then it's her decision. She's in charge, it's her brother.”

Harley sniffled and tried to wipe too-bright eyes on his sleeve. “Yeah okay. Okay.” He brandished the potato gun in Tony’s direction. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Pretty sure I’ve already blown right past stupid and on to moronic,” Tony said, “in that if I’m here too long, my husband’s going to feel the need to come and find me. That’s not going to end well for anyone.”

“Right…” Peter said, hesitantly. “Who else is with you? I uh… this is beyond my paygrade. Harls?” Peter jerked his chin at Harley, who raised the potato gun again. Peter jumped, a good fifteen feet straight up and scurried across the ceiling, which was weird, creepy, and cool all at the same time. He flicked his hand in the direction of one of the computers and a white goopy string sprung out, thin and glittery and elastic. The goop grabbed a small device off the desk and snapped back. Peter brought it up to his face and pressed a button. “MJ, we need backup at Harley’s fort. Like now.” Peter’s voice broke a few times in the middle of his report, a teenager in the middle of his voice change.

“Me and my husband and our friend. The rest of our crew are hanging back about an ell out. They’ll come looking for us if we don’t report in, so let’s all stay calm and reasonable.”

“I’m reasonable, what are you talking about, I’m perfectly reasonable. And calm, you know. Calm. That’s my middle name, Peter calm Parker.” He did something else, and the white stringy stuff lowered him toward the floor until he was dangling like some sort of teenage Christmas ornament, about a meter away from Tony, upside down.

“I have to ask,” Tony said. “Are you part insect? Are they doing genetic modification research in Wakanda these days? I mean, the rest of the galaxy banned it, even for enhanciles, but Wakanda’s always marched to their own beat.” Tony wanted to get his hands on that goop and examine it.

“Amazing spiderman,” Harley muttered. “Frelling show off.”

“What, this?” Peter splatted goop onto the floor near Tony’s foot. “No, I made this, see, it comes out of--” He flipped his wrist to show off a band that had a palm trigger. “And to be honest, I can only do some of the things a spider can. My… uh, my enhancement… it was an accident, wasn’t even meant for me, but--”

“He can pick up our shuttle,” Harley said. “Which is handy when I need to fix the engine. Except that I can’t _fix_ the engine, all the crystals are cracked and they haven’t got dren on this stupid planet, and we’re stuck here and I’m never going to get to go home.”

“Peter, what are you doing out here?” a girl asked, “nevermind, I’m sure I don’t care-- oh.”

“MJ, look, it’s Mr. Stark!” Peter said, spinning on his webline until he was facing the other way. “They’ve come to rescue us.”

“They have not come to rescue us, Peter!” Harley protested. “He was hunting a damn moonhare an’ he looks like an ax-murderer. Just because you’ve got a man-crush--” Harley was suddenly dealing with a facefull of Peter’s web goop.

“Shut up!”

MJ huffed. “Boys!” She rolled her eyes. “Hi! Nice to meet you, I’m MJ, these two idiots are my punishment for sins in a previous life.”

Tony put on a smile. “Hi, MJ. I know I haven’t had a shave for a while, but I’m Tony Stark, and did Potato-boy say you needed _crystals_? Because we might be able to arrange something, there.”

“What have we got here, multiple white boys skulking around our compound?” A cool, lightly accented voice floated in, followed shortly by Bucky, who had his hands on his head and was being nudged by a tall, slender girl with braided hair, one hand enclosed in a vibranium hand cannon. “I cannot leave you alone for more than an hour, Peter Parker, before you are getting us into trouble.”

“This is not my fault, it’s not my fault,” Peter protested. He flipped down onto the ground, looking embarrassed.

“Hi, Tony,” Bucky said. “So, hostile locals?”

“Well, not locals, and I’m working on the hostile part,” Tony said. He eyed the newcomer. “You must be Princess Shuri. If what these boys have told me is true, then I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Wakanda has lost much, in recent turmoil. More, I fear, than she was ready to,” Shuri said. “Your kindness will not be forgotten, and I will relay your sentiments to my mother; they do you credit. You are also not of the local populace, and, in that case, allow us to offer you our limited hospitality. Should you be so kind, call off the remainder of your guard?”

MJ was staring at Shuri, then shook her head. “You do get overly formal, your highness, when you’ve got someone new to show off to.”

“The remainder-- Bruce? Bruce, we’re okay! We’re all friends, here. Come on in.” Tony smiled at Shuri. “That’s... I hope that’s what you meant, because I don’t have a long-range comm on me. Listen, we might be able to trade some favors, here.”

“We are being held by a bunch of kids?” Bucky shook his head, obviously disgusted. “ _Great_. Just… peachy.”

“Tony, Tony, what’s going on?” Bruce asked, poking his head around the door frame. “Is this a code green or what?”

“No, no green needed, big guy,” Tony hastily reassured Bruce. “Come in, come on, let’s... Let’s all get to know each other.” He pointed at the kids by turns. “Harley, Peter, MJ, Princess Shuri of Wakanda. I’m Tony, this is my husband Bucky, and that’s Bruce. There, now we’re all settled, right?” He gave Bucky a reassuring smile. “They’re kids backed by the finest tech and training that Wakanda has to offer, apparently, so don’t feel too bad about it, sugarlump. Anyway, as I was saying before, I think we can make some mutually beneficial trades, here.”

“Dinner first,” MJ said. “I didn't chase those chickens around all morning to have the roasting ruined.” She threw a crumpled napkin at Peter. “And where's my root vegetables? Weren't you supposed to be bringing them in?”

“Sorry, MJ,” Peter stammered.

“If the princess will holster her weapons,” Bucky suggested, “there's a basket of berries I left behind that might have a place for a pie?”

“And I caught what might be the local version of a coney,” Tony said, nudging it with his foot where it had fallen on the floor. “I don’t know if they’re edible or not, but it seemed like a good bet, after the berries.”

“They're pests,” MJ said, “but decent enough eating. I got some herbs that'll cover up the gamey taste.”

Tony scooped the thing up off the floor and offered it to MJ. “How long have you kids been here? And -- I hesitate to ask -- what happened to the local inhabitants of this place?”

“Harley pretended to be a ghost and scared them off. It was a hunting lodge, but we needed someplace to live a bit out of the main town,” Shuri said. “Quite clever of him.” Shuri beamed at the youngest boy, and Harley pinked at the compliment.

“Food,” MJ said. “Or I'm going to kill and eat the weakest member of our party.” She eyed Tony speculatively.

“Not it,” Tony said. “I’m all in favor of food. By all means.” He gestured for the kids to lead the way, tucking his arms through Bucky’s and Bruce’s as he reached them. “It’s fine, it’s all fine,” he said.

“You keep using that word… I'm not sure it means what you think it means,” Bucky sighed.

“It means we’re going to have a nice dinner of local food, and then we’re going to help these kids get off this rock before the locals find them and burn them at the stake or... whatever it is they do around here. And in return, hopefully they’ll help us with some of our issues.”

***

The first thing Bucky was going to do -- after he finished eating -- was see if he couldn’t find a way to trade for the noise cancelling footwear that Princess Shuri had. She showed them to him with delight, how they custom formed around each foot and absorbed all sound, as well as being adequate armor. And then the little minx endeared herself to Tony by telling him she’d decided to call the things “sneakers” and waited with a wide grin as the entire room either laughed or groaned at her terrible pun.

Bucky couldn’t decide if the food was really that good, or if he’d just been on short rations for too long.

“Harley’s the one who figured out how the locals make their bread,” Shuri told them, “as they don’t have anything like yeast here, we were eating--”

“Little rock muffins,” MJ said, “yes, I _know_ , Shuri, I know, they were terrible, you don’t have to keep bringing it up.”

“I’d have taken them,” Tony promised. “We just spent almost six weeks straight in FTL and since it was an unplanned trip, most of what we had on hand was our pilot’s junk food supply. A diet of nothing but junk food sounds pretty appealing at first, but after a few days, it gets _really_ old.”

Bucky stuffed another huge bite of salad into his mouth, a bitter leaf like arugula, but sweetened with a variety of the local berries and some cold poultry and a sweet cheese. “You have no idea how old,” Bucky said, around his mouthful, which was rude, and the Princess managed a tolerant smile for him, which he ignored in favor of eating faster.

“That’s a long stay in FTL,” Shuri said. “If you weren’t coming to find us, why would you take such a long jump with such a primitive drive system?”

“It was an accident,” Tony said, and launched into an abbreviated description of their escape from the _Steadfast_ , with some technical forays into the math of the gravitational bounce, and then their three-event escape. “Void only knows where we’d have wound up if we’d had to let it run its full course.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda what happened to us,” Harley piped up. “‘Cept Killmonger’s warfleet shot a grav bomb into our wormhole. Borked the drive but good. We weren’t hardly in the hole at all, though, maybe six hours from Wakanda to here. Don’t know where here is, ‘xactly. Not that it matters. All the drive crystals are smashed. Shuri’s been building a long distance comm unit, using the fragments, but it’s slow going.”

“And that’s where I think we can help you,” Tony said. “We picked up some raw crystals at our last stop. We’d be willing to share, if you can help us out, a little.”

“My brother was planning to open the shield, allow trade to flow to the galaxy,” Shuri said. “Bring the wonders of Wakanda to the universe at large. Before he was murdered and an usurper took his seat. I… would honor his legacy.”

“You do him credit, your highness,” Tony told her. “If I can ask... your wormhole generator -- can any ship use the ‘hole, once it’s been opened? Or is it tied to the ship that generates it?”

“He wants us to tow him home,” MJ piped up. She was sketching, having finished her meal and was leaning back in her chair, eyeing the table with glee.

“What are you even drawing?” Peter asked, peering around her shoulder.

MJ turned her notebook, showing him the picture. “It’s you. I’m not obsessed, I’m just observant--” she added with some vigor, glaring at Harley, who was giggling behind his hand. “He makes a good drawing subject!”

“I can’t believe you got into the exchange program,” Harley sniffed, looking at her.

Shuri was considering Tony over her glass of juice, squeezed from the same berries that Bucky had found earlier. The drink was a little sour, like lemonade, but the kids had added so much honey to it that it was almost too sweet, under the tartness.

“We might be able to do it,” Shuri said. “The ships have to be touching -- we use a monofilament net at home to rescue stranded or damaged ships, but as long as the total weight doesn’t overload our drive’s capacity, it might be possible to bring you with us.”

Tony spread his hands. “I left the _Avenger_ ’s AI calculating spectometer readings on the visible stars and sorting the navigational tables to find matching stars. All he needs is three matches, and we’ll know where we are, or at least what direction home is. We’ll give you crystals and a direction, if you’ll bring us back to... really, any known part of the galaxy. Assuming you can take our weight, of course.”

“I’ll have to look at your crystals, finish the repair on the _Jaguar_ , and we’ll need to rig some way to attach the ships together, but I believe we have an accord,” Shuri said, offering him her hand. “And, allow me to extend our hospitality, such as it is, until such time as we can get off this desolate place.”

“It’s hardly desolate,” Bucky said. He mopped up the last remaining sauce from the coney stew with the bread. “Good food, breathable air, tolerable gravity. It’s a nice planet.”

“The locals leave a little to be desired as neighbors,” MJ said. “And there’s only one habitable continent, and this is it. The rest of ‘em got these enormous lizards roaming around. They’re big enough to make two bites, even of your brick-house there.” She was eyeing Bucky, sketching again.

“Dinosaurs?” Bruce asked, looking up suddenly. “Really?”

“That means _terrible lizard_ in the old language,” Peter said. “So, yeah, I guess they qualify. Harley wants to call them dragons.”

“They fly, they have big teeth and scales, what’s wrong with dragons?”

Tony gave Bucky a pleading look. “Can we do a flyby on our way out?”

“If you tell Steve we saw dragons, he’s gonna want to come down here and punch one, you know that, right?”

“We don’t have to tell him!” The big eyes got bigger. “Please?”

“This is such a bad idea,” Bucky said, “but yes. Okay. Flyby on a dinosaur. Perfect. Do not say _it’s fine_.”

“Frell, I love you.”

Bucky took a deep breath, blew it out, then gazed at his husband. “Prove it.”

“I would, but there are children present.” Tony winked at him, the brat.

“And me,” Bruce said plaintively. “I don’t want to watch that, either.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For our smut-averse readers: Smut ho! Depending on your comfort level, you'll want to stop reading shortly after they decide to take a bath. :D

The compound was actually pretty impressive. Shuri took them on a quick tour, including a closer look at Harley and Peter’s lab, the small vegetable garden and chicken coop that they’d liberated from the original owners, and, perhaps most impressive, the old Roman-style bathing lodge, with its three pools of water and a steam room. “Primitive,” she sniffed, “but adequate.”

Bucky had started whining in the back of his throat as soon as she said bathhouse.

“And here, we’ve concealed the _Jaguar_ ,” she said. She snapped her fingers together in a quick, complicated rhythm and the ship seemed to unfold from the land around them, as if it had been stored in a pocket dimension.

Tony stared at the ship, first in surprise, and then in unbridled lust. It was _gorgeous_. “Oh, hello, beautiful,” he purred, walking around it to examine every perfect curve and angle. He probably had the same look on his face that Bucky’d gotten when they’d seen the bathhouse.

“No, Tony,” Bucky said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’m just _looking,_ ” Tony protested. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!”

“Yeah, well, look,” Bucky said, “but don’t, you know, _look_ , at it. Last time you got a gander at some really high tech gizmos, you ended up jilting me. Long story, your Highness, but keep it under lock an’ key. Tony ain’t exactly uncovetous about fancy do-dads.”

“That’s hardly a problem, Sergeant Barnes,” Shuri said. “All of our ships are specifically coded to Wakandan descendants. Without the vibranium that we absorb from our water, our air, and even the soil around us, the ship remains dormant.”

Tony went back to Bucky’s side and wrapped both arms around Bucky’s human arm. “You’re still my favorite,” he promised. He couldn’t stop sneaking looks at the Wakandan vessel, though. It was superbly designed.

“You shall have your opportunity, Mr. Stark,” Shuri promised. “Even if you can only hand me tools, another engineer will be a boon toward getting our repairs done promptly. Wakanda needs the rightful heir, and I mean to take back my planet.”

Bucky made a noise that sounded a lot like he was trying hard to pretend he wasn’t laughing, and almost choked on it.

Tony elbowed Bucky. “You’ll need allies,” he said. “I can’t make promises, but we can get you in to meetings with SHIELD and the Triskelion.”

“Then, I shall bid you goodnight,” she said. “You may use our bathing facilities, if you like, and bedrolls can be placed within the workshop, or if you care to, sleep aboard your own vessel, and we shall start in the morning?”

Bucky leaned heavily on Tony’s shoulder. “Bath? Oh, frell, please?”

Tony glanced up at Bucky through heavy-lidded eyes. “Yeah, a bath sounds _divine_.”

Tony was honestly amazed that Bucky showed enough restraint to not just pick Tony up and haul him off to the bathhouse, but his hand on Tony’s elbow was a little closer to urgent than polite. Bucky threw open the door to the bathhouse, ushered Tony in, and then shut the door and barricaded it with a stool behind them.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had something in mind besides bathing,” Tony teased. He tugged Bucky around to face him and started unfastening Bucky’s shirt.

“Well, I won’t say no t’ a bit of a wash up, first. You smell,” Bucky reported, wrinkling his nose. Which was hardly fair, they all smelled.

“I do, hm? Well, all right,” Tony said. He backed away and started on his own clothes instead, trying to suppress the smirk that kept threatening to break free.

Bucky peeled out of his clothes without much in the way of preamble, then started gathering them up, as well as the ones that Tony discarded. His arm made those peculiar clicking sounds as the waterproofing engaged, sealing the joint gaps. He dug up soap -- a harsh-smelling bar that was lumpy and not quite square. Handmade, and probably some sort of animal fat and lye. It would do the job, if it didn’t remove his sinuses by force, first.

“Come on, baby,” Bucky said, tossing their filthy clothing into the hip-deep pool, and then following after. “Can’t wait to be clean, an’ then get a little dirty?” He was a little too eager to be as seductive as he was probably trying for.

It wasn’t like Tony wasn’t eager, as well. They hadn’t been very successful at finding time together over the last weeks, as Tony had frantically tried to solve their problem and the other crew kept coming in to check on him and see how it was going. He swung into the pool with Bucky and hissed at how warm the water was, then practically melted as his muscles relaxed into the heat. “Oh, _frell_ , that’s amazing.”

He dunked down under the water, scrubbing furiously at his skin and hair, and came up only when his lungs began to ache for lack of air.

Bucky was already soaping himself over, working a rich lather into his hair. “I could die happy, I think, right now,” he said, easing back to rinse his hair out, floating lazily in the hot water.

“You are such a hedonist,” Tony accused fondly. He took the soap from Bucky and used it on himself. It was pungent, but he could practically _feel_ the dirt and dust lifting away. “How did a nice Brooklyn boy like you end up with such a fetish for baths?”

“When th’ Phoenix serum made my skin so sensitive that I can feel dirt,” Bucky complained. “S’like bein’ coated in slime, all the time. When I first came out, practically wanted to die, jus’ wearin’ clothes. And ain’t like they let the Fist of Hydra stay spic an’ span. So, I was practically crawlin’ out of my skin all the time and just had to live with it. ‘Bout cried th’ first time Loki offered me a bath.”

Tony made a face. “Ugh, _Loki_. Never mind.” He dragged the nearest article of clothing toward him and started scrubbing at it with the soap.

“Aww,” Bucky came up behind him, wrapping one arm around Tony’s waist and playing with his hair with his fingers. “You’re not still mad at him, are ya, doll?” He nuzzled at the base of Tony’s neck, where the fine hairs had grown so long that they couldn’t even lift when Tony shivered. “Never wanted him, you know. Not like that. It’s only been you, for me.”

Somewhat mollified, Tony leaned back into Bucky’s embrace. “He was still a dick,” Tony said, aware he was being petulant. He dropped the clothes and turned to face his husband. “Do I smell better, yet?”

Bucky buried his nose in Tony’s wet hair. “Mmhmmm,” he hummed, then licked Tony’s neck, curiously. “Perfect. Wonderful. I could eat you right up.” He made soft noises against Tony’s skin as he lipped and nipped his way down Tony’s throat, to his collarbone, and then tongued the little hollow at the base of Tony’s throat.

Tony curled his arms around Bucky’s neck, leaning back to urge Bucky downward. “Been too long,” he said, already breathless. “Not going to last.”

“That’s all right, baby,” Bucky said. “I ain’t sure I remember how this even works anymore, been such a long time. Gonna have to figure it all out again.” He kept sliding downward, working his mouth over the wet skin. He stopped when he got to Tony’s nipple, playing one with his fingers, rolling it gently, and suckling the other, the pulse of his mouth in time with each twitch of his fingers.

“Oh yeah?” Tony gasped and arched into the touch, the heat making him even more sensitive than usual. “You seem to be doing pretty well, there.”

“You’re color coded,” Bucky pointed out. “All the pink parts are the most interesting.” He raised up again, captured Tony’s mouth and licked his way inside. “This, this is pink, right here.” He ran his tongue lightly over Tony’s bottom lip. Bucky dragged his lips over Tony’s, tugged on the bottom lip, then tempted Tony’s tongue out, tangling it with his own, until Tony was wrapped tightly around him, until they were breathing the same air, their hearts pounding in tandem.

Tony slid his hands down Bucky’s shoulders, reveling in the firm planes of Bucky’s back, the curves of muscle, the dip of spine. He caressed the swell of Bucky’s ass, teasing his fingers over Bucky’s crack. “Void, I’ve missed this,” he groaned. “Missed you, missed your touch.”

“Missed you, too, baby,” Bucky told him. “Sharin’ you with the whole gorram boat wasn’t my idea of a good time.” He teased a finger down Tony’s chest. “These are pink, too. So pink an’ perfect and exactly th’ right size for my mouth, don’t you think? S’what they were made for, jus’ for me.” He went back to licking at Tony’s nipple, first one, then the other, tracing a line of kisses between them like a chain of flowers.

Tony groaned and hooked one arm over Bucky’s neck, holding him in place. “Yes,” he moaned, “just for you, all yours.” The other hand slipped between them, skating lightly over Bucky’s stomach, trailing up Bucky’s cock.

Bucky moaned, wanton and needy, pressing himself against Tony’s wandering hand. “You want this t’ last more’n thirty seconds, you best stop that.” Despite the warning, Bucky continued to strop himself against Tony’s hand, panting for breath and making soft, whimpering noises with each rough thrust.

Tony teased at Bucky’s cock for a moment longer, unable to resist, and then moved his hand up to tweak at Bucky’s nipples. “That better?” He pinched lightly, flicked his thumb over the taut peak.

Bucky made some incoherent sound that didn’t entirely sound like he disagreed, either. It wasn’t better or worse, just slow and subtle as they moved in the water, almost languid. Bucky got one hand under Tony’s ass and lifted until Tony wrapped his legs around Bucky’s hips, rubbing them together with delicious friction. “You perfect, gorgeous temptation of a man,” Bucky told him. “Wonder where else you might be pink. You think this--” he palmed Tony’s dick, squeezing his hand between them “-- is pink? Or here?” His hand drifted lower, fingers tickling at Tony’s balls, lifting them gently, rolling them against the heel of his hand.

“Oh,” Tony gasped, stuttering as he jerked and arched into Bucky’s touch. “Oh, void, Bucky, please...” His hands clenched on Bucky’s shoulders like he was clinging to a lifeline. “Baby, please, I need you.”

“Need you, too,” Bucky promised. “Need you so bad.” He bounced Tony in his arms until they were perfectly lined up, rubbing them together. He slid against Tony, the water providing a drag, even though it was heated and wet, it was more of a tease than anything. “Not enough, not…” Bucky pushed them through the water and then lifted Tony up until he was sitting on the lip of the pool, the tiles cool under his ass. Bucky pushed up on his toes, rubbing himself between Tony’s thighs.

Tony hooked his ankles together and pulled Bucky in closer. “Yeah, honey, come on, need it, need you...” He leaned back on one hand and pushed the other into Bucky’s damp hair, tugging Bucky closer for a kiss, messy and perfect.

“I got you, honey, I…” Bucky got a hand between them, wrapped his long, metal fingers around both of their cocks at once and rocked up through his loosely closed fist. He kissed Tony urgently, wet and open mouthed and breathing harder as he stroked them together. “Tony, oh frelling void, Tony, need it, need you, baby, _sweetheart_ , you feel so good.”

Tony closed his hand over Bucky’s, squeezing them a little tighter. “So good,” he panted, “so perfect, honey, oh, frell, I love you so much.” His hips rocked in counterpoint to their stroking, his cock sliding against Bucky’s, heated and hard and so _right_. “Oh, dren, honey, I’m, I’m...”

“Yeah, you give it to me, Tony,” Bucky encouraged, crooning in Tony’s ear, licking at the shell, hand moving faster. “Don’t want t’ wait anymore, need to see you come apart, baby.” He ran his thumb over the crown of Tony’s cock, gathering up the beading precome and smearing it around the ridge before fucking up through their joined hands again. “Tony, I’m… can’t... “ Bucky was breathing harder, the exhale shivering against Tony’s skin as he strained.

Tony threw his head back and cried out, his hand jerking and tightening in spasms as he came, ropes of come spurting up over his chest. “Oh... come on, come on with me, honey, come for me now,” he gasped, barely able to talk through the heavy breaths he was dragging in. “Need you with me.”

Bucky pushed through the slick mess Tony made and was crying out before Tony’s dick even stopped twitching, rubbing himself against Tony’s overstimulated skin. He bit down on Tony’s neck, teeth stopping just shy of breaking skin as he groaned out his orgasm.

Tony dropped his head onto Bucky’s shoulder, panting. “Oh, void, that was... so good.” He rolled his head to kiss the underside of Bucky’s jaw. “Love you, baby.”

Bucky mumbled out a slurred, “Love you, too,” before pulling them both back into the water to clean up. “‘Mon, let’s get towels an’ go sit for a bit. I’ll --” He yawned mightily. “-- finish washin’ our clothes in a few minutes.” Bucky was clingy and petting Tony’s hair and shoulders, obviously needy for the skin on skin contact. It was going to be so hard to get up and walk back to the ship when all Tony wanted to do was lay down and sleep for a hundred hours or so.

“Yeah,” he said. “Come on, we’ll go sit in the steam room.” And if they dozed off for a while in there, what would be the harm?


	17. Chapter 17

Bucky was going to sit down and have himself a moral quandary. It wasn’t that he didn’t like watching Tony work. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Tony to have gotten adequate sleep, either. But he wasn’t sure at this particular moment if Tony was looking so perfectly chipper and delighted because they’d actually -- finally -- been able to make love, slow and leisurely. Or if it was because of sleep and a good cup of strong chicory coffee.

Or because Tony had finally found not just one, but several someones who could keep up with his brilliant mind. He and Bruce, obviously, had a close friendship based on being intellectual equals, but Bruce’s speciality was biochemistry, and therefore, while they were often able to nerd out together, it wasn’t quite the same.

Princess Shuri was an _engineer_.

Peter and Harley and MJ were her proteges and assistants. Bucky had gotten the short, short version of how they’d all ended up together on a ship from Harley, which was that they were students doing an exchange program as part of King T’challa’s initiative to open Wakanda to the galaxy. That pretty much the first thing that had happened after that was that T’challa’s exiled cousin had come back and killed the king and taken over…

Well, the irony did not go entirely unnoticed.

Tony and Shuri were talking in some sort of exotic shorthand, her liquid accent trilling effortlessly around Tony’s more choppy, excited tones as he waved around his hands.

“...no, I see that, I’m just not sure it would work in an engine that wasn’t fortified with vibranium,” he was saying. He leaned farther into the _Jaguar_ 's engine, until Bucky was seriously worried he would fall in. “Though it might be worth experimenting with a few alloys. Gold-titanium nanomesh has some really fascinating properties; it might be able to absorb enough of the shock to keep the whole thing stable. Though it would need maintenance after every jump.”

“Certainly, that could be problematic, on a long term venture,” Shuri said. She twisted one of the beads on her wrist piece, and the diagram she was utilizing glowed gold a moment, then blue. “Perhaps, we have some small amounts of vibranium wire for our own repairs, if we use that for the fiber core, it will greatly reduce the twist in transit, do you think?”

She seemed a little bit like one of those teachers Bucky remembered from his school days, like she was leading Tony toward an answer she already knew, but wanted to give him the satisfaction of coming to the correct conclusion on his own. Bucky hid a smile, ducking his chin to let his hair cascade into his face. “Got some lunch for the resident geniuses. Oh, and you, too, Peter.” Which had Harley nearly falling off the top of the _Jaguar_ , where he was doing something to the comm-array.

“Not nice,” Tony scolded, immediately spoiling the effect by leaning over to kiss Bucky warmly. “Peter’s a good, hard worker. Unlike _some_ slackers I could name!” He raised his voice so MJ would hear him, over by the wall where she was sketching in her notepad and criticizing Peter’s repairs. That had a teasing tone to it, too. Tony was definitely enjoying being among his intellectual peers, even if they were just kids.

He looked over at Shuri. “Break for lunch, and then we’ll build the core and see about charging these crystals?”

“It seems like a good time for that; some may crack during the charge, as they are fresh crystals. My brother--” She paused a moment, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “T’challa, he always said that crystals did better, packed in the soil from the heart-shaped herb, that they absorbed the strength of our people through the dirt, no matter where the crystals came from originally. But we have neither the time nor the materials here. I will pray to Bast that we are successful.”

Bruce thumped down the ramp from the inside of the _Jaguar_. “Did I hear lunch? The scrubbers here are good to go, but we’ll want to do a check of the shuttle and the _Avenger_ before we make the attempt.” He wiped his glasses off on his shirt. “I don’t think their scrubbers will mesh with our systems at all. You just can’t make a square peg fit in a round hole.”

“It is a primitive design, your scrubbers,” Shuri said, disdainfully. “Even with the materials at hand, you could reduce the oxygen loss by at least eight percent with a simple change in design.”

“Yeah?” Tony challenged, not belligerent, but full of glee. “You can tell me all about your _simple change_ while we eat. And then when we get home, I’ll patent it and get filthy rich.” He grinned at Bucky. “Probably retire from space travel entirely. Retire to a desert island or something.”

Bucky snorted. “If I even thought you meant that…” He turned to Harley. “You know, the man’s got a fleet of high powered, cutter-class warships at his disposal, at least, that I know of, and he chooses to putter around the galaxy on the _Avenger_. Personally, I think he’d get bored if he didn’t have stuff to fix all th’ time.”

“Well, he is a mechanic,” Harley said, stuffing most of a local pickle into his mouth and crunching noisily. Harley had a smear of grease on his forehead that exactly matched the one on the back of his arm. Bucky found himself grinning. Harley might have been what Tony was like, when Tony had been a boy.

“Lies!” Tony proclaimed. “Lies and slander! From my own husband, no less. I am surrounded and outnumbered.” He reached for a sandwich made from the leftover coney meat. “How long do we think crystal charging will take?” he asked. “I know if we’re powering them from an arc reactor, they charge in about twenty hours, but you have your hinkey magic engine here, so I’m guessing, what, overnight?”

“It’s hardly magic,” Shuri said. “We leave wizardry to those more suited to it. Seven hours, if the crystals are quality, ten if we go partial power, to avoid overstressing them. That said, we should use your arc reactor, as well. There are limits to the number of crystals we can charge at one time, and it’s very bad to travel a wormhole with raw crystal. Anything we can charge, and preserve, should be done.”

Tony nodded. “Even at half the speed, it’ll save time,” he agreed. He turned to Harley and Peter. “What about your end of the repairs?” he asked. “How much longer do you need on those? We’ll need to ‘beam the Avenger with a status update in a couple of hours; it’d be nice to have an arrival estimate for them.”

“Almost done,” Harley said, talking with his mouth full and absently stuffing a bit of sandwich back in when it fell out, which caused MJ to make a disgusted, retching sound, realistic enough that Bucky actually turned to see if she needed someone to hold her hair back. “The jacketing on th’ wires’s is degrading.”

“Degrad _ed_ ,” Peter corrected. “Degrad _ing_ is something that causes a loss of self-respect. Not that you’d know anything about that.”

“Asshole,” Harley muttered.

Tony covered his laugh with another bite of sandwich, not very successfully. “So if the crystal charging goes well, we might be able to head out in, what, another day? Two?”

 “I should say, yes,” Shuri agreed, twisting another bead. “Making allowances for error.”

“You make errors?” MJ sputtered. “I didn’t know that.”

“Don’t put all your faith in one woman, Michelle,” Shuri said. “Rare as it may be, even I make mistakes.”

“Anyone who claims not to is probably trying to sell you a crock of dren,” Tony added. “And is even less trustworthy than you might think. So... two days to charge, a half-day to gather and load supplies, just in case your tow doesn’t work and we have to go back the long way, and a day back to the Avenger. Call it three days, four at the very most, maybe as few as two. Bruce, are you sending the message?”

“It’s composed, just waiting on the ‘beam,” Bruce said. “You know the captain, we’ll need to check in daily to keep him from deciding we’re overdue anyway. I’ve rigged up a few fishing nets. I thought I might help Barnes with the hunter-gathering thing. Get back to my primitive, caveman roots, and all that.”

“Was I just insulted?” Bucky wondered. “I think I was just insulted.”

“Primitive caveman looks good on you,” Tony assured him, eyes sparkling.

“I’ll remind you that you said that, next time I decide to drag you off to my cave by your hair,” Bucky promised, eyeing Tony with intent that had Bruce rolling his eyes, and the kids making faces that varied from confused (Harley) to disgusted (MJ).

Tony just laughed.

***

They were all admiring the basket of fish that Bruce had caught with his nets and traps, well, except for MJ, who handed Bruce a fish knife and urged him to get on with the cleaning and roasting, when Bucky made it back to the compound, dragging a sledge behind him made from cut saplings bound together with strips of cloth.

On the sledge was… well, Tony might have said it was a deer, except he was pretty sure deer were smaller than that. Not quite as large as a moose, but maybe the local equivalent of an elk, with a huge rack of antlers, nearly a two meters at the spread.

“How the frell...” Tony stared at Bucky wide-eyed. “Inner caveman, indeed. I have no idea how long that thing’s going to take to prep for transport, you know.”

Harley was peering at the dead animal intently. “Skin it, break the back, rack it. Put it on a spit over a good fire, take about twelve hours to cook through--” He stopped, noticing everyone was staring at him. “What? My mom watches a lot of those Sudden Death cooking shows, they’re real popular on the ‘wave. You’ve never seen ‘em?”

“I’m going with a no on that,” Tony said. “Hard to watch ‘wave in FTL.” He grinned. “But if you think you know what to do with this beast, go for it.”

“He did that just to show off, you know that, right, Tony,” Bruce was complaining, twisting his shoe absently in the grass. “Like, seriously, your husband has a complex or something.”

Bucky and Harley were bent over the elk-thing, discussing the best way to go about skinning Bucky’s kill.

“Maybe a little bit,” Tony admitted. He glanced over at Bucky and Harley and lowered his voice. “Plus, he hasn’t had much to do, the last couple of days. I think it gets to him.” He raised an eyebrow, trying to convey “fighting feelings of uselessness” without saying it aloud for Bucky’s freakishly good hearing to pick up. He had no idea whether Bruce got the message.

MJ, who was sketching again, went over to help, and between the three of them, they managed to skin and gut the animal with a minimum of mess. MJ consulted one of the many books on her portable and started laying out a framework. “We can cure this hide,” she said.

“Oh, that’ll come in handy,” Harley said, and it was hard to tell if the kid was serious or not, but they both were gruesomely entertained by the whole idea of mixing up a thin porridge of brains, sinew paste and oats to spread all over the skin.

Bruce turned green, listening to the discussion, but not in the Hulking out sort of way, which was good. “Sometimes I forget that meat didn’t always come out of vats,” he commented to Tony on his way out of hearing, seeing, or -- Tony wrinkled his nose -- smelling of the animal dressing.

Tony was pretty sure they didn’t need a cured hide, and didn’t have the space for it on the shuttle anyway, but he wasn’t going to argue with the kids. Most of their repairs were done, and anything that kept them busy was probably a good thing. Maybe they could leave it for the locals who actually owned the building as a sort of apology for running them off.

He wandered over to Bucky, who was building the fire to roast the elk-thing over. “Really, babe, nice job, I’m impressed.” He smirked. “When does the hair-dragging come in, again?”

“I figure, between me an’ Stevie, that’ll last us all of about three days,” Bucky said. “An’ don’t you fret none ‘t’all. Hunting this fella got my blood up. It’s not quite the usual, but felt a bit, I dunno, cleaner, I guess, than wetwork. Same excitement, less guilt.” Bucky dragged Tony in, wrapping his arm around Tony’s waist to bend him over it for a kiss.  

Tony let himself get lost in that kiss, feeling the rush of Bucky’s pulse against his skin, letting Bucky map his mouth while he wound his fingers in Bucky’s hair. “Mm, maybe we should let your inner caveman out more often,” he murmured against Bucky’s lips.

“I can go for that,” Bucky said, then nudged him suggestively, rolling his hips with subtlety. “Someone’s gonna hafta sleep out here with the beastie, while he cooks, or we’ll have low-tier predators and scavengers pickin’ the bones by morning. You could have a nice sleep, by the fire, under the stars…”

“You think so, do you?” Tony asked, amused. “We’d have to find a bedroll. I doubt Bruce would let us borrow his. I can’t imagine why.”

“We can work something out,” Bucky said. “Fire’ll keep the bugs away. It’ll be great.” Bucky’s hand was sneaking down Tony’s back until his fingertips were tucked inside the waistband of Tony’s pants.

Ah well, he’d slept in worse places, for sure. And with far less pleasant company. “I’m sure it will be,” he agreed. “Better, once the sun’s gone down, hm?”

“Count on it, dollface.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains some REALLY graphic and gruesome violence. ask us or skip to the end for a quick summary of the chapter if you'd rather avoid the gore.

The morning air was damp, cool and sweet, lightly scented with the roasting deer-alope that Bucky’d chased down the previous day. Bucky opened his eyes and he was nose to nose with his husband, Tony curled up against him on their pallet. A beetle trundled industriously across Tony’s hair and Bucky lifted an arm to flick it away. The sunlight glittered on his shiny metal hand, and--

All of Bucky’s instincts went on high frelling alert instantly: there were shapes moving in the reflection of his plates.

Bucky inhaled, just a little sharper than normal, but didn’t act as if he’d seen anything. It could just be the kids, and Bucky didn’t want to terrify them. They were good kids, if a bit odd. So he waited, and focused and…

No, that was decidedly a blurry weapon on that shadow figure. Tony needed to make the plates shinier -- if they were going to be there, he might as well get some use out of them. He tried to make the blurry shapes come into focus, but it was no use.

“Tony,” he said, very quietly. “We have company. You need to wake up now. Slowly.”

Tony’s nose scrunched and his eyes moved behind his lids. “No com’pny,” he mumbled sleepily. “Kids?” That came out on a slow breath. He wasn’t as asleep as he looked, then.

“Armed,” Bucky said. He pushed Tony’s hair gently off his forehead, counting shadows on the plates in his arm. “Least a dozen.” Everyone else was either on their shuttle (Bruce) or tucked inside the lab (Harley and the rest of the kids). “My gun belt is behind you, about half a meter, just behind your knee.”

“Mm.” Tony’s eyes opened, just a tiny bit, enough for Bucky to see a glimmer of eye. “Ready?”

“Love you,” Bucky told him. He let all the strength in his legs coil, preparing to spring. Hand shot out, getting ready to grab the machine pistols out of the air as soon as Tony launched them. Wished he’d slept in his armor; all this naked flesh was making him nervous. He couldn’t protect Tony like this. He was getting soft.

“Three, two...” Tony shifted his shoulders, like he was going to roll over lazily, then suddenly rolled, arm snatching out to grab the gunbelt and fling it in Bucky’s direction. “Go!” He rolled over again, moving toward the fire.

There was always something sublime in shattering the stillness of the day with gunfire.

He didn’t demand surrender, and he wasn’t about to hesitate. He came up from their campsite, eyes taking in the gimlet stares of the locals, the way they all carried weapons, and no one was stepping forward to take on a speaker’s task, or to fill the leadership role. These weren’t concerned citizens, this was a mob. And there was no reasoning with a mob.

He didn’t go immediately lethal, though, sending the first round over their heads -- and hopefully alerting their allies.

“Back off!”

Tony snatched up a heavy stick with glowing embers on its end and rolled to his feet. He spun around quickly, checking the space around them, then came up beside Bucky. “You all want to just turn around now,” he warned.

Bucky wondered if any of them had ever seen a gun, if they had any idea what they were facing. They carried farm implements and hunting bows. One woman had a slingshot, for frell’s sake, and the man wearing what looked like parish garb the universe wide, really, was carrying a blowgun tube, a belt of colorful darts around his waist.

“Gorramit, Tony,” Bucky muttered, “I can’t kill these guys, it’d be like smackin’ _kids_.” They couldn’t possibly know any better. Bucky wasn’t even sure if they spoke a language he could understand. For all he knew, he and Tony looked like invading monsters, yelling in incomprehensible gibberish.

“It might be them or us, honey,” Tony murmured back. He shifted his stance, getting a better grip on his stick.

The natives clustered a moment and projectiles came flying at Bucky and Tony; a spear, two knives, a handful of rocks and bricks. Bucky blocked one knife, caught the other by the tip and sent it spinning back at its own with extreme prejudice, pinning the guy’s hand to a nearby tree.

The spear was easily dodged, but it landed in the fire, sending sparks and burning embers everywhere in a mockery of an explosion. Bucky hissed as his legs were peppered with burns. He whirled to check on Tony, and--

\--something hit him. Barely painful, like a tiny pinprick, a bite from an insect. Bucky staggered, inexplicably. Raised his gun and--

\--the world continued to spin under him. The parish priest was lowering the blowgun, a smug smile on his lips--

\--fire his gun, and the man went down--

\--Tony made a soft, shocked sound--

The ground came up to meet him, and Bucky fell, metal hand groping at his right pec, pulled a flowered dart from his skin. He stared at it, befuddled. “Tony?”

Everything was so _heavy_.

“Bucky? I... I don’t...” The crowd was shouting, screaming, and it was hard to hear Tony over them. The stick fell to the ground, ember smoldering sullenly on the grass. And then Tony was on the ground beside him, staring at him in dismay. “I can’t...”

Hard to breathe. Whatever toxin was in that dart was depressing his autonomic functions, as well as more active movements. His heart beat sluggishly in his chest, a strange counterpoint to the panic that wanted to race through his veins.

“They kilt Father Garthwaite,” someone reported. Bucky couldn’t even turn his head to look.

“Won’t d’t again,” someone else said, and Tony’s eyebrows did a thing, like duh, of course they wouldn’t kill a dead man again.

Bucky struggled to move, his fingertips barely flexing. “Self-defense,” he managed to wheeze out.

Someone kicked him in the ribs. Whatever they’d been poisoned by, it didn’t numb pain. Bucky hissed. “Demon! Ye’ve got a demon in ye, stranger.” The boot toed his artificial limb. “We can remove it for ye.”

Bucky pushed thoughts down the artificial limb. It was sluggish going, like trying to lift a shuttle with one finger, but once he was only concentrating there, he… had control of the arm, still.

Thank _frell_. He shifted his gaze, looked for his pistol.

“Lookit this one!”

There was a tear of cloth and Bucky struggled to turn his head, barely managed it.

Someone had rolled Tony onto his back. Several of them were crouched over him, weapons held at the ready. Tony’s skin, what Bucky could see of it, was pale. They’d ripped open his shirt, revealing the arc reactor.

Tony quivered with effort, but the toxin was affecting him, too. “...off...” Tony rasped, barely loud enough for Bucky to hear.

“Can’t be saved,” a woman said, and she sounded concerned, almost sad, somehow. “Cut it out of him.”

“No!” Bucky groaned. “Leave ‘im alone.”

The man who’d kicked him knelt near Bucky’s head, enough that he could look Bucky in the eye. “You… poor, lost soul,” he said, and he patted Bucky’s head like Bucky was some sort of feral cat, or a stray child. Bucky managed enough motion to bite at those fingers, which were hastily withdrawn. “You’ve given over your humanity to the demons of technology.”

He tapped Bucky’s arm, like Bucky didn’t know what he was talking about. Neo-Luddites. “You’re a sinner,” the man continued. “But we can help you. That’s all we mean t’ do is help you. How deep does the taint go?”

 _There_. His gun wasn’t too far, if he could just get to it.

The woman was poking at Tony’s chest, feeling around the edges of the arc-reactor. She made a disgusted sound, then pushed her hand against it, turning it like a jar-lid.

“No!” Tony managed a panicked flail, and several of the mob piled onto his legs and arms holding him down.

“You’ll kill him,” Bucky said. “It’s a prosthetic, it just keeps him alive. Leave it alone.” Maybe he could reason with them. His fingers twitched and no one seemed to notice. Moved the arm a few centimeters, the fingers digging into the soil and skittering like a bug.

“It’s a sin,” the man said. He was patting Bucky again, and Bucky’s skin both crawled and couldn’t move. “We are to be kept pure, for God. If God wanted your arm, you should have let Him take it.”

There was a soft, pained sound, and then--

The woman had the arc-reactor in her hand, lifting the light and heat of it out of Tony’s chest. The casing was dripping with Tony’s blood and Bucky felt his gorge rise. Had she ripped the _whole thing_ out of him?

Tony made another sound, a grating, terrible noise that surely would have been a scream if it weren’t for the drug in his veins. He thrashed, but the people holding him down made it barely a twitch. Another rasping whisper of a scream.

“Tony! Tony, no!” Bucky tried to yell, tried to struggle.

“We’re helping him,” the man said, compassionate. “It will be over soon, and then God will accept him into Heaven.”

Bucky screamed, tears blurring his vision. “Please, no… no, no, no. _Tony_!”

His arm convulsed, one last ditch effort and he was practically dragged across the dirt by it. Fingers closed around the pistol grip. He jerked the shoulder up, focused, fired. The woman holding Tony’s heart went down in a splatter of blood and brains, and then Bucky had the gun directly in the man’s belly. “Put it back, or this one dies!”

Tony was gasping, his face red with effort. “Bu. Bucky...” He thrashed again, stronger this time, but how long could he live without his arc reactor? Not long. Not while he was being poisoned; Extremis was good, it wasn’t that good. He’d almost died last time, and Stane had known what he was doing, removing it.

“Give it to him, now.”

Bucky wasn’t going to ask again. He’d work his way through these monsters if he had to.

“You’ll burn in hell for this--”

“You first!” Bucky’s finger tightened on the trigger. The man’s eyes were set. Bucky pulled the trigger again. Gorram him if he was going to die without taking as many of them with him as he could.

There was a sudden, thunderous cracking sound, lightning in a bottle, and a gale-force wind snapped over their heads, knocking some of the locals flat.

“ **HULK SMASH**!”

“Tony, Tony, hang on, baby, I’m coming,” Bucky sobbed out. He flexed his fingers, used the elbow to drag himself across the ground. A few meters had never seemed more like light years.

The locals were screaming, scattering, and the ground under Bucky was shaking with the force of the Hulk’s approach. Bucky ignored it all, trying desperately to crawl closer to Tony.

Tony’s head lolled to the side and his eyes met Bucky’s, those beautiful brown eyes full of tears. “Bucky.” His lips moved, but no sound came out, not that Bucky could hear. “Love. You.”

Bucky screamed. His sight was obscured by a glitter of orange sparkles. His lips were tingling, his mouth burned, his lungs turned into fire. Heat raced through him. His flesh arm started smoldering.

Extremis. Exothermic reaction.

The poison in his system burned with it as he raged, trying desperately to reach his dying husband. “NO, no, Tony, NO, don’t leave me, don’t you frelling do it!”

Some of his strength came back, and Bucky was crawling now, dragging his way across the dirt. “Baby, baby, I’m here, I’ve got you--” His fingertips found the reactor casing first, wet and speckled with debris.

The Hulk was roaring and swinging his massive arms, sending the locals flying. Their screaming panic was only a backdrop. Tony screamed again, body arching in pain. “Hurry,” he gasped. He looked at Bucky with wide, desperate eyes.

Bucky looked at the red, sticky mess that was Tony’s chest. “Frell me dead,” he muttered. Wiped his hand off on his shirt, leaving a smear of red behind. He was going to have to reach in there and reconnect the reactor to the hardwires in Tony’s chest cavity. “Oh, baby, I’m sorry--” He pushed through the membrane that Extremis was trying to form, to keep Tony’s blood inside, and Tony shrieked, hands coming up to push weakly at Bucky’s wrist. Bucky heaved out a sob, letting the artificial fingertips sense inside, the difference between pulsing, wet innards and bone and… ah! He tugged at the wiring, just enough to clear it.

Fuck, Tony’s reactor was covered with mud from this frelling cursed place, but Extremis could deal with a gorram infection, could form a cyst around foreign objects and expel them. Bucky gritted his teeth and plugged the wires back into the base of the reactor. _Please, please, please--_

Very, very gently, he pushed the reactor’s casing into that gaping hole.

“Tony?” His voice broke and filled with tears. “Tony, baby?”

For a moment, he was afraid it was too late, that Tony was gone. And then Tony jolted, all over, like he’d touched a live wire. “Aaah! Oh frell,” he panted. “Frell, that hurt. Bucky. Bucky, oh void.” He looked at Bucky again, blinking tears from his eyes. His arm twitched, and he made a frustrated sound.

A rush of air, and the _Jaguar_ was directly over them, lowering the gangplank. “Every one there --” Harley’s voice came over the external speaker “--go on your way, or I will blow another crater in this tiny planet.”

“Come on, baby, I got ya,” Bucky said, and he gathered his strength for it, pulling Tony into his arms and staggering to his feet. His back itched as the locals stared at them, like he could feel each gaze boring into his skin.

“Bruce, come on,” Harley yelled. “I ain’t waiting for you, y’ green menace!”

“That kid has enormous brass balls,” Bucky muttered, lurching awkwardly up the ship’s ramp. “Huge. Clanging.”

“Yeah,” Tony whispered against Bucky’s chest. “Let’s keep ‘im.”

Hulk grumbled something about squashing, then slammed up into the ship, pushing Bucky ahead of him, and nearly knocking him over, nearly knocking Tony out of his grip entirely, but then they were up and inside and safe.

“Idiots,” Peter said, looking out as the hatch sealed. “Don’t even know there’s no weapons on a ship like this. Oh! Mr. Stark, you’re a mess, come on, lemme help--” And the kid frelling snatched Tony away, forcing Bucky to totter after them toward medical.

The _Avenger’s_ shuttle, and what of their supplies they could pack were already aboard. It wasn’t ideal, but they had worn out their welcome and then some. It would have to do.

“Now, Mr. Stark,” Princess Shuri was saying, her voice lightly scolding, “you cannot die yet, I need your steady hands when we must change out the crystal fuel packs.”

Hulk groaned, shook his huge, green head, and shivered down into a gasping and exhausted Bruce.

“Tony?” Bucky nearly fell into medical. “Baby?”

Tony was lying on a table, shivering all over, but his eyes snapped to Bucky’s as soon as Bucky spoke. “Be... okay,” he rasped. “Just... burning off the stuff. Cold.” His hand twitched and lifted, just a few inches. “Saved me. Again.”

“We save each other,” Bucky said. He tottered over to Tony’s side and grabbed his hand, pressing a kiss to the palm. “Frelling hazmots, I could kill ‘em all.” He was holding Tony’s hand between his, each knuckle precious, each twitch of Tony’s fingers a miracle.

“Well, not today,” Harley said, and the small ship broke atmosphere. “We’re leaving. Your _Avenger_ should be here within the shift, and then-- _math_.” Harley groaned, exaggerated, over the inship.

Tony’s hand tightened in Bucky’s, and he turned his head to find Bruce. “You saved us, too,” he said. “Thanks.”

“Hey,” Bruce said, a blanket around his shoulders like a cape. “You think I’m going back to Cap and telling him I lost our hitter and our mechanic in one morning? Think again.”

Princess Shuri did something with a bead, cracking it and pouring the whole thing into Tony’s arc-reactor. “And I have saved you, and you have saved us,” she said. “We are certainly adequately supplied with both heroes and maidens.”

Tony winced and hissed, and then seemed to relax as the bead did its work, whatever that was. “Be okay once I’ve burned off that toxin,” he sighed. “That was some nasty stuff.” His voice was sounding stronger now, more steady. “If it weren’t for Extremis, I might have died, without them even messing with my arc reactor.”

“Hmm, yes,” Shuri said, and then she was checking Bucky over, peering in his eyes. “Epibatidine, it’s a paralytic. On a normal person, it would even shut down their heart, lungs, over time. Leaving the brain for last. Not a pleasant thing at all. Sergeant Barnes--”

“Bucky,” Bucky said.

“Bucky, then,” she said. “Open up, we’ll clean the last bit of this out of you, and be on our way.”

She dusted the rest of her bead inside Bucky’s mouth and his entire tongue went numb for an instant. He crossed his eyes at her while Peter pretended to cough instead of laughing at him.

Bucky was too damn relieved to care, tightening his grip on Tony’s hand. He swallowed until his tongue stopped feeling weird and swollen in his mouth. “Never been so glad to shake a planet’s dust before.”

“I’m disappointed that we didn’t get to see the dragons.”

Bucky sat at his husband’s side, and thought there was nothing quite so beautiful as Tony, alive and recovering. Dragons, who needed them? All the treasure Bucky ever wanted was right there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Tony and Bucky are caught unaware by angry locals.  
> They don't much like tech and Tony gets his arc-reactor ripped out.   
> Hulk saves the day, Bucky gets the reactor back in place before Tony dies, but it's a close thing.  
> On the plus side, it's not a cliff-hanger?


	19. Chapter 19

By the time the _Avenger_ reached them in planetary orbit, they had replaced the damaged crystals in the _Jaguar_ and Shuri was running Tony through the math. Tony still wasn’t certain that a ship that wasn’t a vibranium alloy could withstand the pressures of the wormhole generator, but by the void, the math for it was _beautiful_.

Wormholes were sometimes spontaneously created by the sheer weight of a black hole, but their entry and exit points were unstable. The Wakandan ships generated wormholes with a precision that could be measured in mere hundreds of kilometers -- by the standards of space travel, it was almost absurdly fine.

Tony downloaded JARVIS’ spectral analyses of the local visible stars and they spent a few hours combing the navigational databanks to find matches, expand the starmaps, and rebuild their understanding of where they were. Tony helped to build the equations for the trip home, and was delighted when Shuri only corrected his attempts a handful of times. If he _could_ find a non-vibranium alloy that could manage to contain the pressures of a wormhole anchor, then he would be able to re-create the math needed to use it.

He transferred back to the Avenger before they opened the wormhole. If it wasn’t going to work, then he needed to be with his crew. As soon as the shuttle docked, he made his way to the bridge. They weren’t going to be firing up their engines until afterward, and Tony wanted to watch.

“You look bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” Clint accused.

“Math,” Tony said happily. He poked at the communications console. “ _Jaguar_ , we are secured and ready for transport.”

“This is going to be a long trip,” came Harley’s voice back. “At least sixteen hours. Hope you brought a book to read.”

Tony snorted. “I think we’ll find some way to pass the time.”

“That kid tap-dances on the ragged edge of disaster,” Bucky complained. “One of these days -- pow, right in the mouth.” He was grinning as he said it, though. “Sixteen hours. T’cover the same amount of space that took us months. Frell, it’s a wonder Wakanda hasn’t taken over the galaxy.”

“I think our only saving grace is that they don’t _want_ the whole galaxy,” Tony agreed. “Everyone ready? Because I think our ride is here.” He nodded toward the viewport, which showed a blooming mass of color that swiftly grew to a bright, brilliant red. It was unlike anything Tony had ever seen. He couldn’t look away.

“If we die, Tony, I’m going to kill you,” Clint said. “Brace… for whatever. I have no idea. Just… brace for it.”

The _Jaguar_ moved, towing the _Avenger_ along with it in its net. They picked up speed slowly, and then faster. The red swirl filled the viewport. The sensors at Tony’s elbow shrieked in alarm, and the _Jaguar_ disappeared into the red, the mesh of the net stretching out... For a moment, Tony thought it had failed, that they had been left behind after all, but then they were snapped forward like a rubber band.

The interior of the wormhole was utterly colorless. Even the interior light of the ship seemed to wash out, leaving everything looking muted and gray.

Tony looked own at his hands, and around the room. The farther away he looked, the less color things had. “The physics is _amazing_ ,” he said, and his voice sounded a little muted, too, as if he were speaking under water.

“Oh, I do _not_ like this,” Bucky said, and he moved, a series of jerks and jitters, until he was at Tony’s side, where he mostly looked normal, his fingers closing on Tony’s wrist a little harder than usual, either with panic or perhaps an effect of the drive.

Tony petted Bucky’s arm with his other hand, soothing. “Come on, let’s go back to our room. Maybe you can sleep through most of it.”

“Hull integrity holding steady,” Clint reported. “‘Course, you’d know if it wasn’t. Or you wouldn’t, because we’d all be dead or--”

“Shut up, Clint,” Coulson said, and then there was a noise like someone being kissed before the inship turned off with an abrupt squawk.

Tony guided Bucky through the ship and back to their room, pulled him down onto the bed. “It’s because we’re not really in space anymore,” he said. “Light and sound don’t work quite the same way. They’re traveling through the wormhole the same way we are.”

“Feel like I’m back on a boat f’r the first time,” Bucky confessed. “Was sixteen, when I signed up for th’ war, to send a chit back to my ma and my sisters. “Greenest rookie you ever did see. Thought I was gonna puke th’ first time I was in zero G. _Not recommended_. Passed out cold during reentry from Brooklyn to Manhattan.” He walked his fingers up and down Tony’s leg a few times. “That’s when I met Howard. Scrawny, over excited, talking a mile a minute kid, your dad was. Big ideas. Too big, for how little he was. Thought for sure he’d burn out, tryin’ to keep up with himself.”

Tony huffed. “Kind of hard to imagine my dad as small. I mean, objectively, I know he wasn’t a big guy. But to me, he was always huge.” A huge asshole, sometimes, too, but Bucky didn’t talk about the past very often. Tony wanted to keep him going.

“Me, an’ Timothy Dugan -- Dum-Dum’s original, you know -- we were picked for th’ program. He used t’say it was ‘cause we were the prettiest recruits they had. First thing Howard ever did, clapped me on one side, Dugan on th’ other, an’ took us out for fancy dinner. Smoked oysters an’ pate and all… just… I didn’t even know what half of it was. Me an’ Stevie, we grew up on mostly ration-bars and government rice and cheese. Frelling coney sausage. An’ we’re eatin’, me and Dugan, just _stuffing_ ourselves, and your dad, Tony, man, he was laughin’ at us, and we couldn’t care, th’ food was just that good. T’ hell with him, Dugan said.”

“Well, I guess Dad was an ass right from the start, then,” Tony said. “Did he let you get sick?”

“I got sick,” Bucky confirmed. “An’ lemme tell ya, lobster bisque isn’t that great comin’ back up the other way. Dugan got drunk, first time in his life. He didn’t even have that stupid moustache of his yet, just… seventeen years old, an’ so drunk he couldn’t see. But Howard did a lot for us. When… when we were captured, he flew Steve and Agent Carter out, to rescue us. Against orders. We’d have all died, if it weren’t for them. Later, Howard taught me how to pilot, as a lark. Said I was a natural at the stick.”

“Well, he wasn’t wrong about that,” Tony admitted. He leaned in to kiss Bucky’s cheek. “It must be weird for you, sometimes, being married to the son of a man you knew so well.”

“I wouldn’t make the mistake of saying anyone knew him well, ‘cept maybe Steve,” Bucky mused. “Big showman, but very private, your dad. He didn’t let people in. Not really. Most people didn’t notice, they were too wrapped up in the razzle-dazzle. You’ve got a bit of that, yourself. But… you care. About _people_. Howard, he cared about things. And he… he treated us like pets. We weren’t his friends, we were his _creations_.” Bucky leaned in and claimed another kiss. “You’re a better man than he ever was. Never doubt it.”

Tony snuggled up against Bucky’s side. “I’m certainly glad you feel that way. Come on, let’s take a nap. It’ll make the trip seem shorter.”

Bucky put an arm around Tony, and they didn’t even need to dim the lights; the weird drive effects were somehow encouraging for sleep, stuck in the no-time of the wormhole. A little peace and quiet.

So, of course, when they broke into normal space, sixteen hours later, it was to chaos and war.

***

“Mighta been nice t’ have just a few minutes t’ celebrate,” Bucky muttered. They’d come right out of the wormhole into the middle of Maria Hill screaming at them over the comms.

That tirade ended with a _get your collective asses down here right now,_ and they were landing on one of the docking rings around Lighthouse for an emergency session with Fury. From what little Bucky had been able to gather from the infodump, Shield -- plus at least a half-dozen of their allies -- had been fighting almost nonstop since the Avenger had vanished, sixty-three standard days previous.

“That’ll be a headache,” Phil Coulson commented. “You’ve been declared KIA. Hello, sir.”

Tony was trying to convince Princess Shuri to get herself and her entourage of interns back onto the _Jaguar_ and running for it, but it looked like he was on the losing side of that argument, as the princess was striding straight toward Fury and the Avenger’s crew, ready to run Tony over if he didn’t get out of her way fast enough.

“And where should we go?” she demanded of Tony. “There is no safe haven for me in Wakanda, or anywhere else that the usurper’s word holds sway. I will take this opportunity to make what allies I might.” She pulled up in front of them all, sweeping the group with an assessing, regal stare. “Captain,” she greeted Steve, and then turned to Fury. “Director.”

“Your Highness,” Fury said, his eyebrow going up so far that his patch wriggled in place. “This is an unexpected, and gorram inconvenient honor. My second, Hill, will see to your needs.” He turned his back on her, getting ready to jump down Steve’s throat with spike-tipped magboots on. “Where in th’ Sam Hill have you been at, Captain? I should charge you with deserting! We are in the middle of all out, system-wide warfare!”

“Sir,” Coulson broke in with his bland, history-teacher voice. “Have you lost ships to deserters? Has Hive gotten them?”

Fury looked disgusted. “Dren turncoat sons of hazmots,” he said, grudgingly. “We’ve had to lock up most of the Enhanciles. Does somebody want to tell me what the frell is happening?”

“New York was taken over by a creature who can subvert most of the known enhanciles,” Tony said. “Rebirth, Phoenix, Stark, Terragenesis. Agent Coulson avoided it because his enhancement is some spook thing that no one knows about.” Tony’s eyebrow tipped up sardonically. “Probably they won’t have any way to touch Extremis, either. Locking up your enhanciles isn’t the worst idea, but really, you just need to keep them away from Hive. They can still act outside his sphere of influence.” He hesitated. “And you don’t want to dismiss the princess’ assistance, either. Her ship can do things that most of us can barely dream of.”

“Hive, huh? That’s a good description,” Fury said. “They’re like carpenter ants. Our ships are better, but they just keep coming, throwing their lives away to make any sort of dent in our defenses.”

“What little I was able to gather, sir,” Coulson said, “was that Hive’s the one holding the reins. Something else might be controlling him, and the other enhanciles through him, but if he’s dead, they’ll lose their grip. I don’t know what’ll happen to the drones, after that. They might come back to themselves. But they won’t be under Hydra control, at any rate.”

“In that case, Director Fury,” Shuri piped up, “my advice is the same as to exterminate a nest of bees. You must send a team to kill the queen, a team that cannot be affected by this control. This is where I might be of some assistance. A hand selected team--” She looked over the _Avenger_ ’s crew. “--that I can work with and trust. We will invade the main ship, track down their queen, and kill it.”

“That simple?”

“My ship can get us close enough. Even an Asgardian frigate cannot track us. And they will be in confusion, perhaps, from an external attack, to chase us down? Divide, divert, and destroy.”

“Blood-thirsty princess,” Harley commented, catching up. “I like it. When do we leave?”

Steve glanced at the holoprint that Maria Hill held out. “They’re mostly still in the New York Cluster. Bruce, how good are your records? The ones you told Shield that you destroyed?”

“I can find it,” Bruce said.

“Find what?” Tony asked. “Steve, you’re one hundred percent Rebirth. You can’t go anywhere near Hive.”

“But I’m also the only person alive who can fly a Hydra-built, Valkyrie-class ship-killer. Full payload, with automated mass-driver cannons. Designed specifically to reduce the New York cluster to rubble in space. Pretty sure I can dust most of the Hydra fleet with it. They won’t even know it until it’s too late. Their ships’ll think it’s one of theirs.”

Tony glanced at Bucky. “Steve... They catch even a whiff you’re not what they expect, and they’ll blow you out of the void.”

“It’ll give us time to get in, find Hive,” Bucky contributed. “You, me, the Princess and her crew.”

“Me, too,” Coulson said. “I know what Hive looks like, you’ll need that.”

“You’re never gettin’ on another boat in my lifetime that I’m not on, Phil,” Clint said. “I don’t aim to lose you again.”

Steve clapped his hands together. “Sounds like we have a working solution, Director. Tony, Bucky, Clint, Coulson. You’re with the Princess. Nat, Bruce… and I’ll need a mechanic--”

Maria Hill took a step to one side. “I’m your girl, Captain.”

Tony gave Hill a long, steady stare, then huffed. “Take care of them, Hill.”

“And you two,” Steve pointed at Tony, then Bucky. “You two take care of each other. Damn reckless idiots.”

“Oh, frell you,” Bucky snorted. “You’re like eight times more reckless, you--”

Steve pulled Bucky into a rough hug. “Stop almost dying out there. I mean it. That’s an order.”

Bucky swallowed hard. “Yes, Captain.”

“Yay!” Harley said, completely breaking the mood. “I wanna test my potato gun Mark II out!”

Bucky sighed. “We’re taking the _twelve-year-old_ on a stealth assassination mission? When did we decide that?”

Tony slung an arm around Bucky’s waist. “My plan is to leave the children to man the getaway vehicle, if that helps any.” He eyed Shuri. “That includes you, princess. You’re too valuable to risk losing if it’s not absolutely necessary, and far too dangerous to let fall into Hydra’s hands.”

MJ shook her head back and forth sadly. “Oh, no, he didn’t.”

“We will address that issue at a later time,” Shuri said. “For now, we must prepare. And, Captain -- do not destroy Hive’s vessel until we are clear, or unless the mission fails and I give the order. We must help as many as we can, even if that means sacrificing ourselves for the greater good.”

Tony narrowed his eyes at her. “I regret telling Fury to listen to you.” He sighed. “All right. Let’s go get geared up.”


	20. Chapter 20

The _Jaguar_ was a beautiful machine, run by a neural interface platform that responded to thoughts and a few movements by the pilot, who stood inside a null-grav field on the platform. No danger of losing precious microseconds as the pilot adjusted to gravity or struggled to right themselves; the bubble kept the pilot safe, secure, and alert.

Even the Princess, who would have just barely been old enough to pilot a landcar, was able to operate her ship, coordinate with the _Avenger_ and the _Valkyrie_ , and serve as a communications hub for all of Shield’s armada. She also opened communication and trade channels with off-planet Wakandan stations, rousting them to rebel against the usurper king in her name as the rightful queen, and issued a challenge for the usurper N’Jadaka as soon as she finished up “this trifling matter.”

“That’s it,” Coulson said, tapping one of the ships in the sand table situational map. “The _Steadfast_.”

Bucky blew air out of his mouth. “We’ve nearly been killed by that ship twice now. Ain’t all that eager t’ give it another round.”

Tony’s mouth twisted wryly. “Don’t see that we have much choice,” he said. “If that’s where Hive is, that’s where we’re going.”

Bucky pinched the _Steadfast_ up. He’d been aboard that ship as the Asset, walked its halls as lower level peons scurried to get out of his way. “Here, this is where the Director’s chambers are. Command and Control, just below. Executive suites here. All these decks come with an interlocking transport tube just for the Director. If Hive is working with Pierce, or instead of Pierce, this’ll probably be where he is.”

… _for decades, you’ve shaped the fate of the known galaxy, and I need you to do it one more time..._

Bucky shuddered, trying to rid himself of the memory.

Tony’s hand slid up his arm soothingly. “Bucky? You okay, babe?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Yeah, I’m not that man anymore. That part of my life is done. ‘M fine.”

“Here,” Harley added. “This is the closest access to the air recycler. If the fleet really does keep them busy, they won’t be checking this system; we can latch on here and make our way by foot.”

“You are not going, my friend,” Shuri said. “You and Peter will remain here, guard the ship. If we have no way to leave, well, then we are all making the sacrifice play.”

Tony sighed, but had finally stopped trying to argue Shuri into staying behind, as well. “Which leaves MJ in the pilot’s seat.” He lifted an eyebrow at her. “You okay with that?”

“How hard can it be?” MJ winked at him. “It’s good. I know how to drive, Stark.”

Shuri brought them alongside the _Steadfast_ , unconcerned that they might be detected, and sealed onto the hull with barely a bump. She stepped out of the pilot’s disk and tapped an elaborate necklace that she always wore. Unlike Tony’s bulky battle armor, which came to him at a thought, Shuri appeared to sizzle in the air like a heat mirage, and when it finished, she was clad completely in a black and silver vibranium secure suit. She turned to face them, even her sweet face covered by a mask shaped like a cat’s face, mid-snarl.

“All hail the Queen of Wakanda,” Peter said, soft and fervent. “I have got to get me one of those.”

Tony blinked several times and finally tore his eyes away from Shuri’s armor to look at Bucky. “Everyone ready? Then let’s do this.” He shook out his hands, where he was wearing modified blasters. His battle armor was too flashy and noisy to wear on a stealth mission like this, so he’d cannibalized it for some of its more useful parts. “You lead the way, Buck. You know the ground best.”

Bucky nodded. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to wear his filtered faceplate and keep from remembering the smell of a Hydra ship, or if he would be reminded too much of being an Asset, trapped behind the muzzle. For the time being, until they ran into opposition, he kept it attached, the HUD goggles in place, but the mask hanging to the side of his face. “Steve, pal, you owe me so much for taking on this frelling assignment.”

The _Jaguar_ finished the cut-through and they were in the corridors.

Empty, clean, dimly lit, the maintenance tubes were a maze of twisty passages, all alike.

Bucky stood, feet planted, feeling the way the ship thrummed under him. A massive destroyer class, the _Steadfast_ had a whole engine bank rather than a single drive. The vibrations grew stronger as one headed to the rear of the ship. In case of a complete core meltdown, the drive train could separate from C&C to save most of the upper echelon, although they’d leave the footsoldiers behind without a thought. Cut one head off, and all that rot.

Bucky moved toward the lesser vibrations, until the floor was utterly still and silent underneath them. Smaller conduits joined their passageway. The air circulation was running at a higher rate than normal; Bucky sniffed. “Confirm, ten percent oxy increase over Earth normal?” He was light-headed and a little euphoric from the extra O2. Not the sort of thing that would hurt anyone, but it was harder to fight when he was fighting a case of the giggles, in addition to opposing soldiers.

Tony lifted his wrist monitor to check, but Shuri beat him to it with a sharp, “Confirmed.” She must have had a HUD display in that suit.

Clint put a hand over his own mouth to stifle a giggle over some unnamed humor; Coulson looked unimpressed. “Contain yourself, Barton.”

“It doesn’t make sense. Filter it, if you’ve--” Bucky snapped his mask over his face. It didn’t smell like anything in there, except bitter hints of charcoal. “We’re all gonna get high, an’ that’s a fact.” Even his combat mask wasn’t designed to keep oxy out. No one wasted air like that. Bucky drew his weapon, checked the safety. “We’re not far, keep it down. There’s no insulation in these tunnels.”

He moved the group forward, stopping at each intersection to listen for maintenance crews, to squint into the darkness to see if there were camera systems. A deep, thrumming vibration roared up through the halls and abruptly stopped. “They’re heating up the heavy turbo laser cannon. The fleet’s arrived. Need to move faster.”

Tony nodded. “We’re with you. In and out, as fast as we can manage it.”

Clint squelched another giggle. “Sorry. Sorry. I’m just... Yeah. Shutting up now.” Despite his rambling, he held his bow utterly steady.

The air intake panel lead them to the Director’s residence, and Bucky could see the old conference holo where Pierce had held sway, the Asset a dark shadow at his side.

Now, it looked nothing like that; through the ventilation screen, there was no conference table anymore, instead an array of delicate furniture, white and steel, adorned the room. Sidebars of expensive foodstuffs lined the walls. Humans, their faces painted in tones of white and gold, wearing robes, stood in attendance to--

Blue-skinned aliens, their faces painted with black markings. A dozen, two dozen, big hazmotz, with obvious musculature and bone density that suggested they hailed from a higher gravity planet. The humans didn’t talk, utterly servile, looking at the floor when addressed.

They wore collars.

Bucky found himself snarling behind his mask.

“That’s him,” Coulson whispered. “In grey. And Daisy’s with him, guarding.”

Bucky followed Coulson’s pointing finger; Hive was again a different sort of alien, his head oversized and eyes a deep red and close set. Tentacles extended from his skull, almost like hair, thick coils that spilled over his shoulders. His mouth was tiny, a mere slit in the bottom of his face.

“Well, this should be easy,” Clint said, drawing his bow.

“Wait,” Tony whispered, holding up a hand. “We shoot now, they’ll slaughter us, and someone _needs_ to get word of this back home. We need to find out who these people are and what they’re after.”

“Not to mention, I’d like to recover Agent Johnson,” Coulson said.

Bucky stared around the room, gaze darting from face to face, seeking-- “Tony, turn this way. Don’t know what other tech they’ve got in here--” Void forbid Tony attempt his tech trance on any of the alien tech; he had once nearly blinded himself trying to study Asgardian tech. “--but this system here, this runs the sweepers. Bring one to meet me, down the side shaft, I’ll stick a grenade on it. Maybe we can lure some of them out of the room. The troops’ll rush out, and we can take the leader and just his guards?”

Tony nodded and put one hand on the sweeper panel, and his eyes started glowing sullenly orange.

“That’s still creepy as shit,” Clint whispered.

A few moments later, a little robot whirred into the tunnel and pulled to a halt in front of them.

“Sorry about this, pal,” Bucky said, mining the device; four charges and a spring timer, set for three minutes, ought to do it. He put the sweeper down near its chute, punched the countdown, and let it go. No one paid attention to the sweepers, and their core programming kept them from running into people most of the time. He got in between Tony and the potential explosion. “Get ready. Let as many of them leave as possible.”

“Don’t teach your grandmother how to suck eggs,” Clint snapped.

“I am older than all of you put together,” Bucky said, offended.

“Children,” Tony murmured, watching the aliens intently. “Keep the bickering to a minimum.”

Bucky’s makeshift bomb went off with a thundering crack. Screams and smoke came from the corridor. The roof of the maintenance hatch dropped a few inches, and Bucky put the metal arm over Tony’s head to cover him.

“Gimme a count, Hawkeye,” Coulson said.

Clint had a pair of purple goggles on, giving a quick recon as the aliens reacted to the diversion. “Humans are all staying put... So is Tentacles. Blues are going to investigate, we’re down to... Five, no four, no three blues. Plus Tentacles and the humans. I think that’s as good as we’re going to get.”

“Shoot Hive first,” Tony said.

“Duh, I didn’t-- Dren. The humans are blocking my shot.”

“They look like slaves, maybe they won’t fight?” Bucky suggested, hopefully. “I’m first, cover you. Clint, right behind me, get the shot as soon as you can. Shuri--”

“I am not staying behind,” she snapped. “This suit is laser and blaster resistant. They cannot harm me with their primitive guns.”

“Come right after Clint, then, give some protection to our squishier friends.”

Bucky grabbed the vent grate with the metal hand and twisted, throwing it aside. One step to get some speed and he was tumbling through the narrow opening toward the floor. The metal arm came up and he blocked several slugs headed in his direction, then batted aside an incendiary device.

“Now, Clint!”

_\-- different, this one… but there is a path…. --_

Bucky blinked, stuffed a finger in his ear and rattled it around. “What’n frell was that?”

No one else seemed to have noticed it. Clint was diving through the opening, quickly followed by Shuri. Clint swung his bow as if it were a club, but it didn’t budge the blue-skinned alien he swung at.

He already knew the oxy in the room was higher. Maybe the blue-skinned hazmots needed it. But there was a faint euphoria, even through the mask. A buzzing under his skin, like millions of tiny fingers, touching, soothing.

He was… he was supposed to be… something.

Bucky’s pistol fell from his hand. _\--fighting me, there’s no need to fight, child. Come home. This is where you were meant to be--_

“Tony?” Bucky’s voice cracked, as barely audible behind his mask, under the noise of their… what were they doing? What was he doing?

His chest ached.

He… was _home_?

“Bucky! Snap out of it!” Tony was back-to-back with Clint, fighting... Coulson? Clint was grappling with one of the humans, a woman with dark hair and eyes. There was something wrong with that, somehow, something...

_Come home come home come home._

“‘S the Rebirth,” Bucky managed. “I ain’t… he’s in my _head_!” Bucky shook his head violently, as if trying to expel an invader. Bucky scrambled for the gun, got his hand on it. His fingers were shaking. The muzzle wobbled, arm moving randomly from target to target. Clint, the Hive, the woman, back to the Hive. Tony. “NO!” He threw the gun away, violently. “No, you can’t.. You can’t… you won’t… I won’t... “

“Fight him off!” Tony called. Coulson threw a punch and Tony dodged it, or mostly did. He let out a grunt as it landed on his shoulder. “Dren, Phil, wake up! It’s me!”

Two of the blue aliens were laid out on the floor, the third fighting Shuri.

Most of the humans remained still and impassive, eyes downcast, as if they could neither see nor hear what was happening in the room. The Hive was watching Bucky avidly.

_You’ve never felt like you belong anywhere, have you? This could be your home. We could use a good warrior such as yourself, strong and capable. Everything you want._

Bucky dragged his gaze away, stared at Tony.

_You can have him, we don’t mind. Come on, little warrior, come home. You know this is where you belong._

Bucky turned his hands, looked at the palms. A little galaxy of orange sparkles spun underneath his skin. “I don’t belong to you. I don’t. Get out-- GET OUT!” He clutched at his temples, trying not to hear what he was hearing, trying not to listen to the soothing sounds of comfort, trying not to feel the way his chest ached, all the loneliness and isolation he’d ever felt, settling there, around his heart. He could be happy, content, absolutely certain….

A black shape darted past him, screaming wildly.

“Tony--” Bucky couldn’t see anything anymore, it was lost in a swirl of brilliant orange light. He couldn’t hear, everything was a rush and a roar in his ears. Couldn’t think. All he could do was try to push through it, to reach the one thing, the one person, that he needed more than anything else.

“Bucky, you have to--” Distracted, Tony tripped over Coulson’s sudden sweep of leg, and they were rolling on the floor now, wrestling. Coulson’s arm was looped around Tony’s throat, pulling his head back and squeezing.

“Phil!” Clint yelled. “Dren it, he’s not the one you want! Come and get me!”

Bucky’s heart was going into overdrive, pounding faster than the muscles could work. He was gasping for air, he was-- a burst of panic, terror that wasn’t his own, slammed into him, drove him to the floor and then--

For just an instant, barely long enough to even register it, Bucky was crushed by grief, as if the thing he’d loved most in the universe had been taken from him, irrevocably.

A woman screamed, agony, loss, crumpling to the floor and wailing.

The sound came from every corner of the ship, like a funeral for a god.

Bucky blinked. His eyes burned. Tears streaked down his face and he choked. An inky cloud spilled out of his lungs and then scattered, dispersing into nothingness.

Around the room, Coulson was on his hands and knees, coughing up huge lungfuls of the stuff. The woman, too, so thick it was like she was surrounded by a fog. Some of the human slaves, until the whole room was darkened with it.

Then it was gone and only the memory of it remained.

Bucky managed to blink his eyes clear. And Shuri was there, in her skintight armor, looking like an ancient warrior-shaman, holding up Hive’s head by a handful of tentacles.

“Oh,” Tony said. Croaked, really; he was rubbing his throat where Coulson had been trying to choke him only a moment ago. “Good. We got ‘im.” He dropped his head flat onto the floor, panting.

“We should, uh. Probably go. Quickly,” Clint suggested. “I think they all know Hive is dead now, and they know where he _was_ , so they’re on their way.” He leaned down and hefted Tony up. “Come on, we can collapse later.”

Bucky staggered to his feet, almost tripped over one of the blue guys. “Huh.” He squatted, checked for a pulse. “This one’s still alive,” he said. “Think… we should bring him? He was in here, with the leadership, don’t expect he knows _nothing_.”

“Oh, good idea,” Tony said. He glanced toward the corridor. “Clint’s right, we should beat feet. Can you lift him?”

“Got it,” Bucky said, before he really knew if he did, or not, but while he felt strange and heavy and sad for a loss that he didn’t understand, he could still function. The alien wasn’t a lightweight, but it was manageable.

Clint was supporting Coulson as they all staggered back toward the maintenance tunnel. Tony stopped to help up the woman Clint had been fighting. “Agent Johnson, I presume. Come on, Fury’s waiting on your report.” He glanced around at the mess they’d made of the room. “Shuri, take point, if you’d be so kind?”

They made it most of the way through the corridors before they started encountering bodies, many of them secured to the walls by thick, sticky goop.

“Hey Mr. Stark,” Peter chirped from the ceiling, where he was crouched like a gaudy chandelier. “Did we win?”

“Mission accomplished,” Tony panted. “We haven’t _won_ until we’re safely out of here, so get your scrawny butt back on the ship, _now_.”

Peter scurried back toward the _Jaguar_ , just ahead of them. “Me and Harls had a few patrols head this way. We got ‘em though. MJ, get us hot for takeoff, I have eyes on the olds and am bringing them in.”

“ _Olds_?” Bucky huffed. The damn alien was _heavy_. “Rude.”


	21. Epilogue

“So, I got ninety-nine problems,” Fury said, looking at the wall-sized monitor. It appeared as though their reluctant guest was on the other side of one-way glass, but Fury had learned better. Their guest was ridiculously strong, and glass was not. They had him in the deepest cell on Triskelion with cameras keeping an eye on him. He’d already broken two interrogators -- into pieces, not in the secret-giving manner -- before they’d figured that out. “And this sumbitch is at least half of them.”

Tony watched the alien pacing. “What have you learned?”

“Quite a lot,” Fury said. “This guy doesn’t have the loyalty of a rutabaga and those things usually lean toward whoever’s pouring water on them.”

“Wouldn’t know,” Bucky said. “I don’t like rutabagas.”

Fury glanced around, like someone unexpected might have turned up for his little private meeting. Like someone might overhear. He ran his tongue over his teeth, and made a clicking sound. “This… is the alien. _The_ alien.”

“You say that like there’s only one of him, and I’ve got news; there were at least a dozen of them.”

“How much do you know, Stark,” Fury asked, “about what the origins are, for… all of it? Rebirth, Terragenesis, Phoenix? Do you know where your father and Erskine first came up with it?”

“No,” Tony said. “We have the replication process my dad came up with, but it’s based on a core sample. No one’s been able to duplicate the core without--”

“-- without _that_.” Fury pointed to the alien.

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Terragenesis, too? Coulson told us that was based on the blood of an alien. What did he call it -- a kree? Is that what this guy is? Kree?”

“You have to understand,” Fury said, not looking away from the alien. “We didn’t know _what_ it was. Long time ago… no one knew. Back when Hydra was first gaining power, they started the experiments. From an alien corpse that they’d recovered from Old Earth. Back before anyone even knew there were other planets, or aliens at all. This thing was found in a generation ship, from a group called Nazis. Hydra had it for a while -- they brought forth Red Skull, and we all know about him. Then Erskine escaped and brought blood samples and the formula to make it work with humans. Your father, the SSR. We all had samples.

“GH 319, GH 324… the various current enhancile serums are all based off those samples,” Fury continued. “Strength, durability, healing factor, enhanced dexterity. Some had… side effects. Tahiti is GH 325. In all these years, the only original, non-biological enhancement tech… was invented by a wise-ass kid on a bender, and his girlfriend, the microbiologist. Extremis.”

“She wasn’t really my...” Irrelevant. “You’re telling me we’ve been shooting people up with alien DNA all this time? Sweet void, no _wonder_ some of them go a little crazy.”

Bucky rubbed his metal hand over his flesh shoulder, like something was crawling under his skin. “That… I did not really need to know about this.”

Tony took Bucky’s hand and squeezed reassuringly. “So what are they doing here _now_? Did they find out about our enhancements and come to take revenge?”

“He might claim that,” Fury said. “Kasius, that’s his name… he was apparently banished from his homeworld. Cowardice in the face of the enemy. He and all his followers were driven out until he could prove himself. According to him, we’re a tiny speck of a population, scattered over less than a hundred worlds in one insignificant backwater galaxy. No match, he says, for the might of the Kree Empire, but a pretty enough prize to bring home to his father. A whole galaxy’s worth of foot soldiers who have already bound themselves to the Kree.”

“Well, that’s disturbing. On the other hand, we’ve captured their leader, apparently.”

“And that’ll work, right up until word gets home that we captured the exiled prince,” Fury said. “As long as we keep a lid on this thing, we won’t have big bad daddy to deal with.”

Bucky made a scoffing sound. “That’s a very… specific metaphor, Fury. Gross.”

Tony considered the prisoner on the monitor. “Do we have any kind of bead on whether their empire is actually that big or if he’s just blowing smoke up our asses?”

Fury shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe this was the lot of them, from a dying empire, trying to turn everything around in one last hurrah, or maybe this was a ragtag band of exiles from a civilization we can not even begin to imagine.”

“We need to get Extremis into all of our enhanciles,” Bucky said. “ _Now_. In case they can make another one of these Hive-creatures. That’s a vulnerability that I’d exploit, if I were them.”

Tony nodded. “I’ll contact Pepper, have her step up production now that the New York cluster seems to have settled down some.” He glanced at Bucky. “And you need a heavier dose than you’ve already got. They almost got you, back there.”

Bucky gave him a wink. “Gonna wear me out, husband.”

Tony grinned. “As if I could.”

Fury nodded. “All right, we’ll make our portion of the galaxy as safe as we can. That’s what we can do. Prepare.”


End file.
